


Trouble With a Capital T

by Will_Write_4_Coffee



Category: Mob City
Genre: Being protective of each other, Canon Continuation, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, I mean it's the mob y'all, I'm not a historian but I googled A LOT, Joe still has occasional war dreams, Mentions of PTSD, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, You've been warned, later chapters WILL CONTAIN SMUT, lots of banter, or my take on it at least, protective Evelyn, protective Joe, shit happens, story picks up about 8 months after the show ends, this is basically the second season of Mob City we never got, tried to be as era accurate as possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-16 13:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 59,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14166357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Will_Write_4_Coffee/pseuds/Will_Write_4_Coffee
Summary: Evelyn Conway just wants to get rid of the coded hit lists she found. She doesn't want to get involved. She doesn't want to file a report. She does not want to stir up trouble.But Detective Joe Teague pegged her as trouble the moment she walked into his office.Trouble with a capital T...





	1. Gumshoe Blues

Evelyn’s shoes clicked on the tile floor, announcing her approach to an empty hallway.

The officer at the front desk had told her where to go, but as she strode toward the wood and glass door marked “Robbery and Homicide” she wasn’t so sure.

 _Should have just left the damn things outside in the mail slot,_ she thought, biting the inside of her lip.

A uniformed police officer opened the door on his way out, and she paused, gesturing for him.

“Ah, excuse me, I’m looking for—”

He brushed passed her without even a glance.

She rolled her eyes. “Well alright then.”

Catching the door before it closed, she strode into the aforementioned department, momentarily stunned by the eruption of noise. The hallway had been so quiet, but this? This was nearly chaos. Men in cheap suits rushed by her, making her dizzy.

A large, mustachioed fellow with his nose in a file walked in front of her.

“Excuse me, I’m trying to find—”

“Down the hall,” he grumbled, eyes never lifting.

“I didn’t even say who I was looking for…”

Taking a deep breath, she looked around the room, wondering if she could pick the man she needed out of the crowd without trying for anymore ‘help’.

Her face must have been the picture of ‘lost’, because in moments a taller, skinny man with narrow features stepped over from his desk.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“I’m looking for a Detective Teague,” she started. “I was told he’d be working today.”

The man lifted an eyebrow, regarding her warily, before cocking his head to the left. “Hey Joe, you’ve got a visitor.”

Before she could thank him, the man was halfway across the room. Turning, she saw the man he called to standing up from his desk. Dark hair, impossibly broad shoulders, thick hands… Now that fit the image she’d had in her head of the man she was told to meet.

She didn’t expect him to be this handsome though…

“Detective Teague?” Evelyn asked, stepping forward.

“Yes ma’am. What can I do for you?”

She didn’t expect a smoky voice like that, either. Maybe she oughta stop having expectations…

Clearing her throat, she locked eyes with him. “A friend gave me your name. Said you might be able to help me with… A particularly sensitive situation I’ve found myself in.”

She caught the tick of his jaw before his expression shifted into something she assumed he was hoping looked neutral.

“Why don’t we discuss it in here,” he said, motioning for her to follow him to his office.

Closing the door behind them, he offered her the wooden chair across from his desk before sitting himself.

Smoothing her skirt, she reached into her purse and pulled out a folded envelope, sliding it onto his desk.

“So, Miss…?” He trailed off, wanting her to give him a name.

Too bad she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Both.

“I’m aware your time is valuable Detective, so I’ll be brief.” She clipped her purse closed. “I found the contents of that envelope at my place of employment—”

“Which is?”

“Somewhere I’d like to continue working,” she said it with a sharp smile. “Which won’t be possible if I bring cops to their door.” Evelyn tilted her head at the envelope. “I found… those. And wish to no longer be in possession of them. Hence why I brought them to you.”

Detective Teague’s brow furrowed, making his deep brown eyes even darker.

“You sure don’t like embellishing much, do you?”

Evelyn’s lips quirked. “If only you knew.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?” He leaned forward, gaze heavy on her. “Clearly someone you know thinks I’m trust worthy. Why don’t you take their lead?”

“I am taking their lead. That’s why I’m here.”

Detective Teague started to reach for the envelope when she clapped her hand over it, stopping him.

“I’d prefer it if you waited until I left before opening that.”

His head turned to the side. “You want me to close my eyes and count to ten, too?”

Evelyn smirked. “I didn’t have a problem with you watching me come in, I certainly don’t care if you watch me walk away.”

She knew how it sounded the second she said it, but she couldn’t let her slip of the tongue derail her. She wanted this done and over with.

That didn’t stop her from noticing the amused grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Look, Detective,” she hurried to continue. “I don’t want to be involved—”

“So you made the obvious choice of coming to a police station.”

Her stare sharpened. “I have enough keeping me awake at night, I didn’t want to add this to the list. So, I brought them to the most capable person I could find. And now I want to wash my hands of it all and go back to my life… unburdened.”

Detective Teague watched her a moment, eyes skipping over her features quickly, before he grunted softly—a noise she assumed meant some variation of acceptance on his part.

“Thank you,” Evelyn said, starting to get up. “I hope you have a—”

“Just one moment, Miss.”

“Damn it.”

He flashed a grin at her casual disgruntled curse.

“I just need your name.”

“Why?”

“For the report.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to _make_ a report. That’s all you need from me.” She waved her hand at the envelope.

Detective Teague clucked his tongue. “Except, if something were to happen…”

“Like what?”

“I’d need your name. Contact information. A way to get in touch—”

Frustration bubbled in her chest. _Shoulda left ‘em in the mail slot._

“I’m not a witness, Detective Teague. Consider me a… Delivery woman. That’s all.”

“Oh yeah, you’re a regular mail lady,” he quipped. “Got the ornery temperament of one anyway.”

Her smile was just shy of a sneer. “And what a delightful civil servant _you_ are.”

Sighing through his nose, Detective Teague looked up at her. “How about a name? Just a name, so I don’t have to tell my boss that whatever this is fell outta the sky.”

Glancing around the room quickly, she nodded. “Alright. Barbara.”

Teague picked up a pencil, scribbling on a scrap of paper. “Barbara…?”

She spotted the apple sitting at the end of his desk—part of his lunch, she guessed.

“Barbara Appleman.”

Detective Teague wrote out her alias and the date next to it, nodding. “Thank you, Miss Appleman.”

Standing abruptly, she tugged at her skirt to straighten it. “Have a good day, Detective.”

She was halfway out of his office when he called, “Guess you really don’t mind me watching you leave, huh?”

If her cheeks weren’t warm, she’d have turned to glare at him. Instead, she simply waved over her shoulder and booked it for the exit.

***

Joe knew he was in trouble the second she’d sat across from him.

At first glance he’d expected her to be nervous, maybe even a little rattled… When she’d reached into her purse he thought she was going for a handkerchief. Then she’d plopped down an envelope and started trading banter with him like a boxer ready to jab and cross their way out of a corner.

Teach him to judge on looks again.

And looks she had plenty of. Her black hair was cut short—a newer trend he’d seen with the higher educated women in town—but still had enough length to curl and pin back, showing off her delicate features. Fair skin, blue eyes, and petal pink lips he was sure had driven dozens of men to madness.

But it was her sharp tongue that had really caught his interest. That sensation he knew so well, hooking in at the base of his spine, curling around and around, drawing him closer.

And then she was gone. He’d thought his last comment would have at least gotten a last look over her shoulder, but instead she’d waved him off. A woman determined to leave.

 _Good,_ he thought. _I’m still not in any condition for…_

He scowled, shaking himself out of that train of thought.

It had been a long year. He’d at least concede to that.

Eddie appeared at his door, leaning his shoulder into the doorframe.

“A gift?” He asked, narrow face barely emoting. Eddie wasn’t exactly the expressive type.

“Maybe…” Joe opened up the envelope, gingerly pulling out the papers inside. They were worn, folded up scraps from what he could tell.

“What’s on ‘em?”

Joe squinted, reading the chicken scratch on one of the slips. “It’s… shorthand I think.”

“That woman hand delivered secretary notes?” Eddie stepped further into the office, crossing his arms. “That… would be a first.”

“You read shorthand?”

Eddie shook his head. “Nope. I think Tug does though…” With that, he turned and disappeared around the corner.

Joe was just about to grumble to himself about ‘unhelpful co-workers’ when Eddie returned, with Tug just behind him.

“Hey fellas,” Tug said with a nod of his head. “What’s so important?”

“Lady just dropped these off,” Joe told him, sliding a few of the pieces across his desk. “Didn’t give any explanation, wouldn’t even let me open ‘em while she was here—”

“Strange…” Eddie commented under his breath.

“Well, let me take a look,” Tug said, sitting down. After a moment, he jerked his head and made a surprised noise at the back of his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I can read this. Can I… You got a pen?”

Joe handed his over quickly, leaning on the edge of his desk in earnest.

Tug’s mouth fell open as he decoded the second slip. “I recognize this address.”

“It’s an address?”

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Tug nodded. “It’s a club… Owned by Mickey Cohen.”

Joe’s stomach twisted, the blood draining from his face.

_No, c’mon, no, not again, I can’t…_

Eddie’s stare was on him, observing but not exactly judging. “You sure know how to stir things up, Joe.”

“I didn’t do this,” Joe snapped back. “She came to me, she brought them here—”

“It’s probably a good thing she did…” Tug said, still writing. “Two of these places were hit in the last week, several men killed at each place, but the other addresses I’m not familiar with…”

“You think it’s a hit list?” Eddie asked, stepping closer.

“Maybe…” Tug glanced up at Joe. “What’d this lady say about them?”

“Just that she found them at her place of employment and didn’t want anything more to do with them.”

“So she asked for you specifically to deliver them to?”

Joe sighed. He was just barely out of the cloud of suspicion concerning Bugsy Seigel’s murder last year. It had taken intense diligence at every turn, every move he made. He’d had to keep his nose clean and his head down, had to be the perfect model detective, and even then, some on the force still eyed him funny. Not that he really blamed them. He knew what he’d done, he’d do it again too… But having his own colleagues look at him the same way they looked at wise guys and bag men for the mob… It grated a man’s nerves.

And then a broad in a blue dress had to come in and kick up dust at his ankles.

Just what he needed.

 “Joe?”

He glanced at the two men. “She said a friend gave her my name. Probably found my card somewhere… Maybe a witness from a case or something.” Deflection was second nature to him now.

Tug finished writing out his last decoded address. “Well, Joe. I hope you’ve managed to smooth things over with the guys. ‘Cause it looks like you’re back in the Organized Crime division.”

Joe’s jaw clenched. “Bully for me.”

***

By the end of the day, Hal and his wonder team were all back together, sitting in that same conference room, notes and pictures on bulletin boards, files getting brought in by the box load.

The police commissioner had continued the Organized Crime division but had selected his own team to do most of the work. Everyone got bounced back to their old divisions, brought in only when specific cases or people were the focus of investigation.

Mickey Cohen was the name that brought them all back to that room.

Specifically, Mickey Cohen and his raging feud with Dragda. The prized fight that was on its 9th round.

After decoding and cataloging the slips of paper, they got tacked up on the board for everyone to take note.

For Joe it was a blinding reminder that he may never escape the hole he’d dug himself.

Just as Hal was giving the rundown for the next day’s plan, something clicked for Joe.

She’d said ‘a friend’ had given her his name. Nowadays, Joe didn’t have many friends, especially not one that would highlight his occupation as a detective.

He had a very small pool of candidates to work with.

Last time he’d seen Ned was two months ago, striding into the bullpen looking for his client. They’d shared a nod—not like they could catch up on life in the middle of the police station.

Eddie clearly hadn’t known who the woman was when he’d greeted her, so that scratched him off the list.

Joe was halfway to his car when he had an idea.

Maybe he had more friends than he thought…

It was a quiet and swift drive across town, and he parked around the block. He never liked to park too close to any place he was going—never wanted to announce his presence anywhere.

There was a small crowd gathered on the sidewalk outside the club, but that wasn’t unusual for a Thursday night. Pulling his hat down low, he sauntered through the front door to Bunny’s Jungle club, cocking his head as he surveyed the place.

Anya spotted him immediately, gaze raking over him.

Dropping his hat on the bar, and sliding out of his jacket, Joe sat at his usual spot and waited.

“My night just got a whole lot better,” Anya said, smiling at him. “Wanna know why?”

“Win big at the track, Anya?”

“I only gamble with my heart, Joe. You know that.”

He smirked. “Sure do.”

“You’ve come to visit me. Here I thought I’d be spending my night lonely and bored, and then you came struttin’ in and changed my mind.”

Joe ducked his head. “I don’t strut. Bad knees, ya see.”

“Tell that to the rest of you,” she commented, voice sultry as she poured his usual.

Pulling a pack of smokes from his pocket, he tapped them on the bar before sliding one out and placing it between his lips.

“Need a light?”

“Actually I was hoping you could help me with something.”

Anya smiled, more predatory than anything. “I get off at 1.”

Joe chuckled. “We’ve been over this Anya. I’m no good for you.”

“Think I deserve better, do you?”

“Much better.”

“Like who?”

He thought for a moment. “There’s a guy in my building who sells vacuum cleaners,” he said, striking a match. “He seems nice. You don’t mind glasses do you?”

“Oh come now, Joe. You think a vacuum salesman is gonna satisfy a girl like me?”

Lighting his cigarette, Joe smirked. “Probably not. But at least he’d be dependable.”

“It’s like you hardly know me.”

Dropping the smoking match in the ashtray, Joe glanced up at her. “But you know me.” His tone was just this side of serious to get her attention.

“Sure do. That what you wanted to talk about? What kind of man you are?”

The irony wasn’t lost on him. Anya had no idea…

“More curious to see if you’ve been telling anyone else about the kinda man I am…” He locked eyes with her. “Anyone come to you for my kind of help lately?”

Leaning forward on the bar, Anya lowered her voice to ask, “The tall, muscled kind or the shiny brass badge kind?”

“The latter.”

Glancing to her right, Anya waited until the busboy finished taking the rack of glasses before speaking. “We got a new waitress. Been here a few weeks. She’s good—Maybe too good. Seems too bright to be working that hard to keep a job like this. She works Fridays through to Monday nights.”

“Lemme guess. Her name’s _not_ Barbara Appleman.”

Anya laughed at the alias. “If she ever was, I can understand why she’d change it.”

“Didn’t look like a Barbara to me…” Joe took a deep inhale off his cigarette.

“So she did come to see you.”

Joe looked up through the cloud of smoke. “She did.”

“And did you?” Anya lifted a brow at him. “Help, I mean.”

“Tried. She was pretty keen on not getting involved further.”

“Can you blame her?”

“No, but what she… delivered, wasn’t exactly a basket of muffins.”

Anya spotted more customers taking a seat at the far end of the bar and started to turn away. “Just try to keep this place out of it, Joe. Lord knows we’ve had enough trouble to last us a while.”

As she strode away, Joe nodded. He took another drag from his cigarette and sipped his bourbon.

At least he could say his list of friends was up to three now.


	2. Put a Lid On It

Evelyn let her mind wander as she wiped down the bar top, the music and chatter from the club turning into white noise buzzing in her ears.

She’d done what she could. She’d gotten rid of the papers. She’d given them to a detective of all people. There wasn’t anything else she needed to worry about. No one knew she was involved. No one would come looking for her.

For all intents and purposes, she was safe.

“Excuse me, miss? Can I get a bourbon neat?”

She nodded, turning to the liquor shelf behind her and pouring a finger’s worth into a glass.

Safe. Sure… The last time she’d felt safe was in New York. Sitting at her parent’s table, talking over coffee. A far cry from where she was now.

Turning back to face the customer who’d ordered the drink, she froze as the man removed his hat, dropping it on the bar next to him.

Dark brown eyes locked with hers and she struggled not to react.

“Evenin’ Miss Appleman.”

Her alias clanged in her ears, especially when _he_ said it.

“Detective Teague,” she greeted, trying for nonchalant. “Didn’t expect to see you in here.”

“I don’t usually go out on date night,” he said, eyeing her still. “Too crowded for my taste.”

Sliding his drink toward him, she forced her shoulders to ease down. “Then what’s brought you out tonight? Is it the appetizer special? I hear it’s delicious.”

He grinned, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. “I already ate.”

Back home, Evelyn had once seen a cat cornered in an alley by a large brown dog—a big, hulking mutt with a chunk missing out of its ear. The cat was terrified, back hunched and hair on end, hissing and screeching. It had been a breath away from fighting its way out of that alley. In this moment, she was greatly empathizing with that cat.

“Well, I won’t disturb you while you—”

“You got a light?” Detective Teague interrupted. “Seems I left my lighter at the station.”

Evelyn glanced down, finding the bowl of matches they kept. “Here you go.”

Taking the matchbook from her, his fingers brushed hers, and if she’d been a young flighty girl with stars in her eyes, maybe that would have meant something to her.

Instead she was ready to bolt.

“Those things you dropped off,” he said, lowering his voice so only she could hear him. “They proved to be very… interesting.”

Clenching her jaw, Evelyn steadied herself. “That was my reason for bringing them to you,” she said. “Seemed like something a man like yourself would be more equipped to handle.”

Lighting his cigarette, Joe kept his eyes on her. “See, the thing I can’t figure out is… How a waitress would know what those _things_ were to begin with. Not many people read shorthand.”

“Say that in a lecture hall on any college campus and you’ll see just how wrong you are.”

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Joe smirked. “That where you learned? College?”

“Never got the chance,” she lied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Aren’t you curious how I found you?”

The longer she was around this man, the tighter her jaw became. She was going to give herself an overbite.

“Not particularly.”

Detective Teague simply ignored her. “See, you told me a friend gave you my name. But despite my shining personality, I don’t have that many friends. Especially not the kind who’d send you my way for help.”

“Looks like you’ve underestimated yourself, detective.”

“Not really. Only took me a few minutes to narrow down the options. From there it was just a matter of likelihood.”

“How very Sherlock-ian of you.”

Delight shined in his dark eyes. “You sure you didn’t go to college?”

“I just like to read,” she said stiffly. “Is that a hobby you’re familiar with, detective? Or do you prefer occupying your mind with things that are of no consequence?”

She was _really_ starting to empathize with that cat now…

“You seem to be many things, but trivial isn’t shaping up to be one of them,” he told her, lifting his glass to take a sip. “So how about we try this again, from the top.”

“I didn’t study theater either.”

“I can tell. You’re a terrible liar.”

She grit her teeth. “I didn’t—”

“Miss _Barbara Appleman_? Really?” He cocked his head to the side. “Just picked the first thing you saw on my desk, huh?”

Evelyn’s cheeks flushed, and she cursed her fair complexion. Traitorous coloring, showing even the slightest hint of pink.

Detective Teague tapped the ash from his cigarette. “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t pack sardines for lunch.”

“Why do you need my real name anyway?” She snapped. “It doesn’t matter to your case. I’m not a witness. You can’t haul me into court. So why do you need it?”

For the first time since he’d sat down, Detective Teague looked sincere and a little troubled. “Because I don’t make the rules. And if my boss wants to talk to you about what you did or did not see, I have to be able to supply him with a name. You know what a fake name gets me? My ass nailed to the wall.”

Digging the heel of her palm into the edge of the bar, Evelyn leaned forward a fraction. “You didn’t mistakenly add my name to that list of friends you came up with, did you? ‘Cause last I checked, I don’t know you and I don’t owe you jack.”

She started to turn away when a warm, strong hand wrapped around her wrist, pinning her in place.

“You’re right, you don’t know me. But I promise I’ll keep you out of this as much as I can. Just…” He stared at her for so long she wanted to squirm. “Please.”

Every self-preservation instinct she’d carefully honed since moving to LA drained out of her body—she guessed the exit point was where his hand still clutched her wrist.

Inhaling deeply, she relented. “Evelyn. Evelyn Conway.”

His thumb barely stroked her pulse point—An old school lie detector technique.

“Evelyn,” he repeated, and a slight shiver tripped up her spine. “Thank you.”

“May I have my arm back now?” She glanced down at his hand. “I happen to need it to serve other paying customers.”

He grinned and let her go. “Wouldn’t want you to lose out on any tips, now would we?”

“Certainly not, since I’d come knocking down your door for compensation.”

“Now that’d be a story for the boys.” In one gulp he downed his bourbon and tossed a few bills down—way too much for a single glass of bottom shelf. “Have a good night, Miss Conway.”

He stood, quickly placing his hat on his head and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Goodnight Detective.”

Pausing, he turned to look back at her. “Call me Joe.”

She didn’t get the chance to reply, as he was out the door by the time she took a breath.

 _Joe,_ she thought. _It suits him._

***

That night Joe dreamt of short black curls pinned back, and big blue eyes staring him down. It was the first dream he’d had in months that wasn’t all blood and bullets and steam from a train, blocking his final glances.

***

The next morning, Joe practically flopped into the chair next to Eddie’s desk.

“Mornin’ Joe,” Eddie deadpanned.

“Eddie.” He nodded. “How many favors have you done for me, Ed?”

Sipping his coffee, Eddie glanced at him over the rim. “Too many.”

“Hm.” Joe leaned on his elbow, tilting a fraction closer. “What are the odds you’ll be willing to do me one more?”

“Depends. This doesn’t happen to have anything to do with a mysterious young lady who came in here, would it? Black hair, curvy, New Yorker—”

“New Yorker?” Joe narrowed his eyes. “How’d you know that?”

Eddie took another sip of coffee. “It’s the shoes. New York women get the newest fashion first. Those Oxfords she was wearing aren’t going to be on this side of the country for at least another 3 months.”

Joe couldn’t help but only blink at the man. It was like he was speaking Greek to him.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “My wife owns a dress shop, remember? She practically lists shoe styles in her sleep.”

Joe chuckled. “Right, right. So, she was a New Yorker?”

“That’d be my guess. Or she’s got very rich friends.”

“Doubt it,” Joe said, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt. “She’s a waitress at a club.”

“Looks like you’ve done some digging on your own.”

“Only the basics.” Glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone else was within earshot, Joe cleared his throat. “You think you could look into her for me?”

“You want a background check done?”

“Nothing too invasive, just…” Joe rolled his neck. “Just enough to see what she’s about.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I think I can do that. What’s her name?”

“Evelyn Conway.”

“Pretty name. I’ll see what I can do.”

Clapping Eddie on the shoulder, Joe stood up. “Thanks Ed.”

“I’m putting it on your tab.”

What a pal…

***

Evelyn was counting gin bottles in the back store room when Anya came in, expression serious.

"Boy, am I glad you took my advice."

"I take your advice on a lot of things, Anya," Evelyn said. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Getting rid of those papers," Anya told her. "One of those Dragna creeps just came in looking for 'em."

Evelyn went cold, but kept her face neutral. "Bet Bunny was real happy about that."

"Bunny didn't see. But word travels." Walking by, Anya stopped at the door, looking back at her. "If I were you, I'd start making nice with Detective Teague. Never know when you might need to know a guy..."

She was gone before Evelyn could comment.

If she had her way, she'd never see the detective again.

***

Joe was half-way down the hall on his way out for the night when Eddie caught up to him.

“Joe, you’re gonna owe me a drink.”

Slowing, he turned to look at him. “Oh?”

Waving a file in front of him, Eddie nodded. “Yup. Looks like your new lady friend has had quite the life.”

“She’s not my lady friend,” Joe corrected tersely, reaching for the file. “She dirty?”

“You’ll have to tell me that when you find out,” Eddie deadpanned his joke but Joe wasn’t in the kidding mood. “Nah, she’s clean. But clean and interesting are not mutually exclusive.”

“Meaning?” Joe cracked the file, trying to skim over what Eddie had scrounged up.

Eddie tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. “Evelyn Conway moved to LA about six weeks ago. She rents an apartment in a quiet neighborhood, she doesn’t seem to have many friends, she goes to work, she comes home, she gets her groceries on Tuesdays.”

Joe lifted an eyebrow at him. “You had her followed?”

“Nope,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “She just has very attentive neighbors. Nice retired couple with a dog. They like her. Want her to date their grandson.”

Joe snorted quietly as he read over the piece of paper with Evelyn’s address. “Alright, so why is she interesting?”

“Because before Miss Conway moved to town, she was leading a very different life.” Eddie glanced down the hall, making sure they weren’t being eavesdropped on. “I made a call to a buddy of mine in New York—”

“You’ve got pals in the Big Apple?” Joe smirked. “Never would have guessed.”

Eddie blinked. “I’m a very sociable guy, Joe.”

“Right.”

“My friend looked her up. Turns out Miss Conway was a very busy woman.”

“Still not dirty?”

“She was a reporter.”

Joe gaped. “What?”

Eddie nodded to the file. “I dug up a few of her articles for you. She’s good. Sharp as a tack. I particularly enjoyed her piece on corrupt aldermen.”

“She’s an investigative reporter?” Joe could feel a huge chunk of the mystery slide into place. No wonder she’d been so aloof, aggravatingly distant.

“Was,” Eddie corrected. “It would seem she’s given it up for a quiet life as a barmaid.”

Joe closed the file, keeping his grip on it tight. “Or she’s running from someone.”

“Couldn’t’ve been easy being a female reporter, even in New York. Can’t imagine she made many friends poking her nose into dangerous people’s business.”

“No… Can’t imagine she did…”

“Hey Joe?”

Glancing up at Eddie, Joe waited.

“I ask this with respect,” he started. “But… This isn’t another Jasmine Fontaine situation… is it?”

Her name hurt more than the shrapnel he’d caught in the ribs on Guatalcanal.

Taking a steadying breath, Joe held his stare. “Christ, I hope not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments are encouraged and very much appreciated.


	3. Hit the Road Jack

Bill the Boy Scout sure did love his meetings. He’d called three in the last two days, getting the whole Organized Crime team back into the conference room. Joe took a seat in the corner, keeping his distance from the others. He’d been doing it for the last year, keeping himself out of the way and out of suspicion, both physically and metaphorically.

His shoulder holster tugged as he settled in, focusing his attention on the cup of coffee in his hands.

Bill started talking, doling out assignments for the new objective—to find someone in Mickey Cohen’s crew that might be willing to flip for the sake of the rest of their group. If they got word that hits had been arranged, maybe they’d be willing to share in exchange for their lives. Even Bill knew it was a long shot—most Mobsters knew what they were getting into when they took up the gig. It’s practically emblazoned in the job description.

But maybe if they started shaking some bushes, something would fly out.

“Teague,” Bill called and Joe glanced up.

“Sir?”

“You said a woman delivered these slips?”

Joe swallowed roughly. “Yes, sir. She came by the station and handed them over.”

Pat Dolan shifted in his seat, eyeing Joe. “Heard she asked for you.”

“Like I said before…” Joe started, emphasis heavy. “She must’ve gotten my name from someone. A witness from another case who had my card.”

“Sure, sure,” Dolan muttered, clearly disbelieving.

Bill ignored the subtle power struggle. “You got her name?”

Joe nodded. “Evelyn Conway.”

“Bring her in, I’d like to talk to her.”

Joe and Eddie both went stock-still.

“Uh, sir, with all due respect,” Joe stumbled. “She didn’t see much. Just found the papers and thought to bring them to the station.”

Bill shook his head. “People always see more than they realize. Sometimes it just takes a little time and some conversation.”

“Conversation,” Joe echoed the word, feeling his chest tighten.

“Of course. She’s not under arrest, she’s a witness. I just want to talk to the young lady. Maybe she saw more than she knows. If not, she’ll get a cup of coffee and a ride home from the LA police department. Simple as that.”

Joe glanced at Eddie quickly. “Simple. Sure.”

“Why don’t you go pick her up?” Bill started to head for the door. “I’m meeting with the Chief but I’ll be back to talk to Miss Conway. Say, one hour?”

Joe didn’t get the chance to reply, as Bill was out the door in an instant. Hal looked down the table at Joe, watching him warily.

“Want someone to go with you, Teague? Or you think you can bring her in on your own?”

Dolan stood up, muttering under his breath. “Just don’t drive by any oil fields…”

Joe kept his jaw tight so as not to snap back. He nodded to Hal and without a word, got up and headed for his car.

Evelyn Conway was going to hate him for the rest of his natural born life.

***

Shifting the heavy paper bag in her arms, Evelyn reached into her purse for her apartment key. She’d noticed people in LA took their time at their doors—lingered in the halls to talk to neighbors, setting their belongings down to open up their doors, things like that. Things that set her New Yorker sensibilities on edge. She still got her keys ready three floors down, before even reaching her hall.

As she made it to the last of the stairs, she hugged the grocery bag to her hip and glanced up to see the shadow of someone standing by her door. Halting, she thought about turning around and making a quick and quiet get away, until she heard her neighbor’s voice.

“Are you Evelyn’s new boyfriend?”

The man chuckled. “Uh, no ma’am.”

Evelyn’s teeth ground together. _Teague…_

“Well you should be! A handsome man such as yourself…” Her neighbor continued—Mrs. Balsam loved to chat. “I know she must be lonely. She hardly has anyone over—Not that she isn’t friendly, mind you. She’s a sweet girl, so thoughtful. She brought me flowers last week when I wasn’t feeling well.”

“That does sound nice,” Detective Teague’s voice rumbled, and Evelyn didn’t appreciate how her spine tingled at the sound. “Doubt I’ll be getting flowers though.”

“Is she angry with you?” Mrs. Balsam lowered her voice to what she considered a whisper. It wasn’t much of one though. “Did you two have a quarrel?”

“No ma’am,” Joe said, grin audible. “Well, yes. Let’s just say she probably won’t be too pleased to see me.”

There was a pause before Mrs. Balsam asked sternly, “You’re not harassing her, are you?”

 _Yes, yes he is,_ Evelyn thought.

“No ma’am, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a police officer, I just have a few questions for Miss Conway, that’s all.”

“Oh… Well maybe you can take her for a cup of coffee while you ask her those questions…”

Having enough of Mrs. Balsam attempting to auction her off at market, Evelyn continued up the stairs. Seeing Detective Teague and Mrs. Balsam in the hallway, she smiled tightly at her neighbor.

“Afternoon Mrs. Balsam. Made a friend?”

Looking a little caught, Mrs. Balsam hurried to excuse herself. “Oh, I’ve left my tea on the stove…”

“Have a nice day, Mrs. Balsam,” Detective Teague called, grinning like a cat who ate the canary. “Nice woman. Very chatty.”

“Oh yes, she’s a delight.” Evelyn brushed by him to unlock her door, feeling something shy of unease with the man still standing so close.

“Need help?”

“Been carrying my groceries all on my own for quite some time, detective.”

“Thought I told you to call me Joe.”

“And I thought I told you I didn’t have anything else to say. And yet here you are, getting chummy with my neighbors and leaning on my door like it belongs to you.”

Detective Teague took half a step back, giving her a little more breathing room.

“You took forever at the store. You always take that long to get a carton of eggs and some bread?” He arched his neck to look in her bag. “Oh, looks like you went to the butcher too.”

“I’m making steak for supper,” she told him. “And I need to get it in the marinade, so if you don’t mind…”

Stepping into her apartment, Detective Teague stopped the door with his foot before she could close it. 

Sighing, Evelyn looked up at him. “Don’t make me start singing at you.”

The wrinkle in his brow would have been cute if she wasn’t so annoyed.

“What?”

“ _Hit the road, Jack,_ ” she quoted, voice clipped. “And don’t cha come back.”

Smirking, Detective Teague leaned his shoulder into the door jam, and Evelyn gave up trying to close the door. Turning her back to him, she continued into the kitchen to put the food away—She wasn’t going to let her milk spoil on his account.

“My boss wants a word with you.”

Whirling around, she pegged him with a hard glare. “You told me you’d keep me out of this.”

Detective Teague moved into the apartment, closing the door behind him, she assumed for privacy. His hat was in his hands and he worried with the brim, glancing down before speaking.

“I know. And I tried—”

“Oh sure, it looks like you tried _real_ hard.”

In just a couple strides he was across her small living room and at the entrance to her kitchen. His pleading stare was the only thing that tamped down her anger.

“I did, I swear to you I did everything I could to keep you out of this. But Bill, he’s a boy scout. He thinks you might’ve seen more than you realize. He just wants to talk.”

“Talk turns into interrogation awfully quick.”

“He has nothing to interrogate you for. You saw pieces of paper, you figured out they were a list and it looked ominous, and you brought them to the police. End of story.”

“That _is_ the end of the story,” she said to him, pushing her carton of eggs to the back of her fridge. “Is your boss really that dim he needs to hear the words out of my mouth too?”

Detective Teague smirked. “Probably don’t wanna call him dim to his face.”

“I’m allusive, not rude.”

“Oh, is this you being allusive then?” Detective Teague cocked his head, eyeing her. “Hate to see what your version of ‘rude’ is.”

“Keep it up, and you’ll find out, pal.”

There was that delight again—That flint spark in his dark mahogany eyes. He was enjoying this.

Something coiled in her belly, and she was determined to ignore it.

“Look, Miss Conway,” he said, taking half a step forward. “I know you’re wanting to keep a low profile—”

“How would you know that?”

His jaw ticked, and he looked like he was considering his options before speaking again.

“I had a friend look you up.”

Evelyn closed her eyes, cursing under her breath. “Shit, of course you did.”

“Not—I wasn’t trying to dig up anything embarrassing. I just needed to know what you were about—”

“You mean you wanted to know if I was dirty.”

He half-nodded. “Well, yeah. Can you blame me? I’m a cop.”

Crossing her arms, Evelyn sighed. “Well? What did you find?”

With something akin to gentleness, Detective Teague regarded her. “You moved to town about six weeks ago, from New York, where you were a reporter.”

She felt the color leave her cheeks, but she stayed as calm as she could.

“You were good, too. I liked your dissection of the new zoning laws and how it would affect smaller family owned businesses.”

Evelyn blinked at him. “You… read my articles?”

“Just a few. Couldn’t find that many in the archives out here.”

“Probably a good thing…” She muttered and then caught herself. “Ah, I just mean, they’d probably bore you.”

“You’re not the only one who reads, Miss Conway.” His expression was teasing but there was no sharp edge, no probing nature, no feeling of being cornered by a big, lumbering predator.

She smiled, and for the first time since meeting him she felt that genuine warmth spreading in her face. Oh no, she was starting to like him… The jerk.

“Look, I don’t want to stir up trouble for you. Your reasons for leaving New York are your own, and I’m not in a position to judge your motivations. I doubt my boss is going to want a full background check done on a pretty, young witness, so just tell him what you told me, and you’ll be back in time for your steak supper.”

She thought for a moment, quietly weighing her options. It would be more suspicious not to talk to the police, to put up a fight. Better to go in and give her report and be done with it once and for all.

But she couldn’t pass up one last chance to tease Detective Teague.

Glancing up at him, she smirked. “Did you just call me pretty?”

His eyes widened, and lips parted.

_Got him._

Chuckling, Detective Teague ducked his head. “I suppose I did.” Stepping to the side, he motioned for her. “After you.”

“After _you_ ,” she corrected. “I’m the one with the key.”

His smile lingered as she finished putting away her groceries and gathered up her coat and purse.

They both noticed Mrs. Balsam standing at her door, pretending to shuffle through her mail as they left.

Detective Teague tipped his hat. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

Evelyn just rolled her eyes.

***

Sitting in an interview room, surrounded by cops… Evelyn’s Tuesday had taken a turn.

Billy the Boy Scout had certainly lived up to his name. The man had been the picture of politeness, so much so that Evelyn was almost uneasy about it. But he’d been kind as she told her tale—She waitressed at Bunny’s, she’d gone to the back for a couple more bottles of liquor and when she’d stepped into the hall she found a notebook and a few pieces of paper with shorthand on the floor by the back exit, like someone dropped them on their way out. She told him her mother taught her to read shorthand (It wasn’t a complete lie) and she knew whatever was written on those slips, it wasn’t a grocery list. So she’d asked her co-worker if she knew of anyone trust worthy, and that’s how Detective Teague’s name had been given to her (again, not a lie).

She played the perfect part. The woman just trying to do her job, who didn’t want any trouble.

Joe had watched her the whole time, quiet and intense, but for the first time since stepping into his office 5 days ago, she’d felt comfortable under his gaze.

Bill Parker was about to ask her to sign some papers, and she gently interrupted.

“Ah, could I trouble you for a cup of coffee?” She looked up from the paper and pen being slid across the table at her.

Joe stood up from the stool he’d been on. “How do you take it, Miss Conway?”

She didn’t miss the odd glance he cast at one of the other detectives—the leaner one from a few days ago.

“Black, with a touch of sugar,” she said, and Joe nodded, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

Bill’s ice blue eyes locked on her. “Thank you for coming in today Miss Conway. We sure do appreciate it.”

“Of course,” she said, fiddling with the pen. “Anything I can do to help.”

“I’m glad you said that,” Bill told her, shifting in his seat. “Is there anything else you remember about that day? Your customers, anyone causing trouble…?”

She shook her head. “I remember it being busy that night. Lots of bigger parties. Must’ve been because of the band.”

“The band?”

“We have a band come in every Saturday. People really flock to Bunny’s for the music.”

Joe returned holding a cup of coffee and turned it, handle out for her to take.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and caught the glint of humor in his eyes as he nodded. He was amused by how demure she was being in front of all the other detectives.

Bill leaned forward. “Did anyone stick out in your memory? Anyone who seemed suspicious?”

Evelyn shook her head as she blew on the hot coffee. “I’m sorry, I honestly didn’t notice anyone out of the ordinary.” Taking a sip, she hummed quietly. Joe made a good cup of coffee.

“How did you know the list of addresses was suspicious?” One of the other detectives asked—a shorter man with a bold printed shirt.

“I’ve never met someone who wrote their Christmas card list in shorthand, have you?” She quipped back and immediately regretted it. If she acted barbed and irritable, they’d think _she_ was suspicious next.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Joe covering his grin with a head tilt.

Recovering, she sipped her coffee. “Honestly, I expected Detective Teague to dismiss me when I came in.” She glanced over at him, waiting for him to look up. “I thought I was being overly concerned. That maybe I’d seen one too many movies…” Taking another gulp from her mug, she shrugged. “I was halfway to his office when I thought about turning around and going home. I would have been so embarrassed if he’d laughed at the _silly woman._ ”

“Wouldn’t have dreamt of it, ma’am,” Joe told her, that spark of delight back in his eyes.

“Well it was kind of you to humor me,” she said from behind her mug.

“And good of you to have brought in those papers,” Bill interjected. “You’ve done us a huge favor and we’re very grateful.”

“It was nothing,” she said. “Uh, Commissioner, I hate to be a pest, but I really must be going…” She gestured to the clock on the wall. “I have dinner plans.”

Joe kept his expression in check as she said it, and she was glad he could contain himself.

“Of course, we’ve kept you too long already,” Bill said. “If you wouldn’t mind just signing that statement and we’ll have you on your way home.”

Scribbling her signature, she handed the paper back to Bill and stood up from behind the table.

“Thank you, Miss Conway. Detective Teague will take you home.”

Her jaw tightened involuntarily. “Oh, that’s alright, I can take a cab.”

“No, no, I insist. We’ve put you out enough, the least we can do is save you the cab fare.”

Inhaling deeply, she forced a smile. “Thank you.”

Moments later she was being lead out of the department to the elevator, Joe offering to help her with her coat. Bill saw them off and once they were in the elevator alone, Joe’s suppressed chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Stop it.”

“Sorry, you were just so…”

Evelyn glared at him. “I was playing a part. And you said I was a terrible liar.”

“Technically you never lied in there. You just left out a few details.”

She folded her arms tightly. “The less they know the better.”

“Well, I happen to agree.”

She frowned at him, watching as he buried his hands in his pockets. “You’re a detective. Aren’t you supposed to pursue the truth at any cost?”

Joe’s gaze drifted downwards. “Ever hear the phrase ‘let sleeping dogs lie’? Sometimes that applies to the truth.”

“If I wasn’t so goddamn tired, I’d bug you about that.” She let her head fall back against the elevator wall. “But I’ll let you have that one.”

“Not going soft on me now are you, Miss Conway?”

She couldn’t help but grin. “Not in the least. It’s just been a long week and I haven’t slept well.”

“Guess that makes two of us.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, and Evelyn practically bolted into the lobby, B-lining for the exit. She just wanted to be home, listening to her records while she attempted to cook (she wasn’t as good as she’d like to be, but she wouldn’t admit that to Detective Smug behind her). She wanted to be done with police visits to her door, mentions of papers she’d found, and she’d love to never hear the words ‘suspicious’ or ‘interesting’ again for a very long time.

“Didn’t realize it was a race, Miss Conway,” Joe called from behind her.

Pulling up short, she sighed. “What’s the matter, detective? Can’t keep up?”

He didn’t answer but she heard him chuckle as they exited the building and headed for his car.

The drive was a little slower than she’d hoped, but at least he didn’t force any small talk. She spent the majority of the time pointedly staring out the window. She’d catch a glimpse of his reflection in the glass and her stomach would jolt uncomfortably.

 _Now is not the time,_ she told herself. _Keep it together._

Joe pulled up in front of her building and turned the car off. “I’ll walk you up.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Maybe so. Doesn’t mean I can’t.” He was out of the car before she could argue.

Her door swung open and she jerked a little. Damn he was fast.

“Thank you,” she muttered, getting out.

Joe walked her up the four flights to her apartment, trailing back a bit as she moved to unlock her door.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

Nodding, Joe watched her a moment before saying, “Here. This is my card. It’s got my number—”

Taking the card, Evelyn smirked. “You handwrote another one on here. Home phone?”

He smiled, the skin around his eyes wrinkling, softening his features. “Just in case you need anything…” His dark stare found hers. “Or if you find yourself in any sort of trouble.”

She ran her fingertip over the edge of the cardstock. “Think I’m going to get jammed up again?”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Joe shrugged. “I pegged you as trouble the second you sat down in my office. At least now you’ve got a safety net.”

Somehow he’d managed to execute teasing and sincere simultaneously and it left Evelyn speechless for a moment. Joe tugged the rim of his hat, ducking his head.

“Enjoy your steak,” he said, flashing another smile. “Have a good night, Miss Conway.”

“You too, Joe,” she mumbled and he cocked his head. It was the first time she’d called him by his first name.

Coming to her senses, she hurried inside her apartment and locked the door before he could comment. Or before she could do something stupid…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! As always, comments are welcomed and encouraged. Also, the chapter titles are from jazz and swing songs on this fic's playlist.


	4. Feed the Fire

Evelyn’s Friday shift at Bunny’s was uneventful, although she did get a decent tip from a lonely gentleman at the bar she spent a few extra minutes with. He’d been a quiet, accountant looking type and he’d had a few good jokes that had her laughing, so it was a mutual appreciation.

As she was taking her apron off, one of the other girls came around the corner, talking to Anya.

“I really appreciate you letting me take the next two weeks off, Anya,” she said.

“Of course, sugar. Your mom’s sick. You gotta take care of your own.”

“Yeah, well, I still have to get my shifts at the Clover covered…”

It wasn’t uncommon for waitresses to work multiple clubs and bars, especially given the pay was never usually good enough from one place to cover all the bills.

Evelyn turned her head, catching their attention. “The Clover you said?”

She cursed herself for asking. She was toeing the line, creeping into danger’s den…

The other girl, Marie, nodded. “Yeah, I hostess there on weeknights.”

_Don’t do it, Evelyn… You know that’s Mickey Cohen’s club. Don’t…_

Looking to Anya, she said, “If you can get my Friday nights covered, I’d be happy to help you out at the Clover.”

Marie gasped. “Oh goodness, really? You would?”

“Sure,” Evelyn said with a smile. “As long as you think they’d be okay with it.”

“They don’t care as long as someone’s there in the spangly dress, clicking the button on the camera.” Marie came over, hugging Evelyn around the neck. “Thank you so much. I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I could use the extra money.”

_You mean your curiosity needs feeding._

Marie wrote down a few things Evelyn needed to know before her shift on Monday night—the name of the manager she’d have to talk to, and where the dresses were.

“You’re an angel,” Marie said, handing her the paper.

Evelyn smiled.

_Not even remotely close…_

***

“Joe?”

Glancing up from the file he was reading, Joe blinked. “Eddie.”

“Hal wants us in the conference room.”

“Oh geez… This can’t be good.”

Eddie shrugged. “Or it’s very good.”

“Turning into an optimist on me?”

“Never,” Eddie told him. “But it can’t rain every day, can it.”

“Suppose not.”

Walking into the conference room together, Hal and the others greeted them. Joe took up his usual spot in the corner, waiting to see if Eddie was right after all.

Bill was the last to join them, closing the door behind him. “Gentlemen, I have good news.”

Eddie looked to Joe, the faintest smirk on his face.

“All those bushes we’ve been shaking finally spat us out a birdie.”

Hal leaned forward. “One ready to sing.”

“No kidding.” Mike Hendry snatched the toothpick from his mouth, glancing between Parker and Hal.

“Apparently word has gotten out about the intended hits, and Mickey Cohen hasn’t been treating his bag men nearly as well has Siegel did.”

Tug pushed his glasses up his nose. “He’s willing to testify?”

“He’s agreed to be a CI in exchange for immunity.”

Eddie leaned over, whispering to Joe. “That a silver lining I see?”

Joe chuckled quietly but his nerves were still on edge. The further they dug into Mickey Cohen, the closer they circled his own skeleton filled closet. After shooting Bugsy, Joe had waited for Sid Rothman to come knocking on his door that night. But months had gone by, and he’d never come home to find Sid in his apartment again.

Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe they hadn’t put it together. The only one who knew was Ned, and while they might have their differences, Ned would never rat him out. In fact, Joe wouldn’t be surprised if Ned was pulling his own smoke and mirror routine inside Cohen’s crew to keep them off his back. Ned was good like that.

Still, Joe felt like he had a ticking bomb in his ribcage. One day, his time would run out.

Bill continued talking, explaining the next steps to gaining information from their new CI.

“He’s supposed to make a drop at The Clover. He’s agreed to meet us after at a diner on 5th.” Bill glanced around the room. “Dolan, Hendry, I want you two posted at the diner—Dolan he’ll come to you to talk.”

It made sense—Dolan had the most street look of any of them. He didn’t scream ‘cop’ from a mile away.

“Eddie, you’ll be watching the perimeter. Hal and I will be in a car half a block down and we’ll all rendezvous once our CI is clear.”

It didn’t surprise Joe that he wasn’t given an assignment… He hadn’t been put on a CI detail since the Hecky Nash debacle. But Parker was still looking at him like he was about to give him a golden sword.

Joe really hoped he didn’t.

When Parker dismissed everyone, he told Joe to hang back and it took all his strength not to wince.

“Sir?”

Parker squared his shoulders, ice blue eyes locking with his. “I’m sure you’re wondering why you weren’t put on the detail.”

“Not really, sir,” Joe said, shaking his head. “I know I’ve given myself a black mark after the incident with Hecky Nash. I don’t blame you.”

“I believe in giving fair shots and second chances, Teague. What happened with Nash was unfortunate but I don’t blame you for it.” Jerking his head to the left, the two wandered off to the side of the room to speak in relative private. “You’ve heard about Tug’s new assignment?”

Joe nodded. “Corrupt police investigations. I think it’s a good idea—smart and subtle.”

“That’s why I didn’t give you a spot on this CI team.”

Joe’s heart dropped to his toes. This was it… He was found out…

“I need your skills for a few evenings, working with Tug,” Parker continued. “We’ve got some files that need fresh eyes, and I think you’re a good judge of character—who’s capable of doing what.”

There was something in Parker’s stare that felt weighty, but Joe was too busy trying not to look woozy with relief to analyze it further.

“I want you to team up with Tug, take a look at what we’ve found, come up with a list of who you think the most likely candidates are to be moles for the Mob or in their pocket. That sort of thing. Think you can handle that?”

Joe nodded quickly. “Yes sir.”

“Good. I appreciate this, Teague. I know it’s not exactly the glamourous life of robbery homicide but…” He winked and clapped Joe on the shoulder.

Tug strode up behind him, nudging him in the arm. “Looks like we’re partners for a little while.”

Joe cocked his head, the beginnings of a smile curving his mouth. “Yeah Tug, looks like we are.”

“I won’t lie, it’ll be dull at times and some pretty late nights. But my wife brings dinner and she makes a mean meatball sub.”

Joe shook his hand. “Sounds great to me, Tug.”


	5. Axman Jazz

The first night at the Clover had been the worst for Evelyn. It was a much different place than Bunny’s—all glitz and shining lights, big name movie stars and high rolling tough guys. The music was good though, she’d give ‘em that.

Marie’s spangly dress was about a size and a half too tight on Evelyn but she used it to her advantage. No body would be memorizing her face when they were too distracted by her other _assets_ practically spilling out. She wished the hemline was a little longer though… If she dropped anything, the whole place was getting a floor show.

She’d been a little frazzled by the culture shock and the rushed pace of everything. She never could hear people fully when they talked thanks to the brass section on stage, and she messed up several orders and table numbers. Finally, half-way through her shift, she swapped with one of the other girls and kept to the hostess stand and picture taking. She was good at that, smiling and being polite while not talking much beyond ‘right this way’ and ‘okay everyone, say cheese!’

She left the club that night with an extra hundred bucks in tips too. No wonder people wanted to work here.

Her second shift went much smoother and she actually found herself enjoying the bustle of the club.

Especially since it gave her the perfect excuse to mill around, and the perfect amount of people to keep her movements from being noticed.

She’d started in the kitchen, taking note of anyone who looked less like a line cook and more like a goon. Then she’d worked her way to the back, where the linen closets were. A couple guys in dark jackets and fedoras were standing by the back door, smoking and looking bored, but they never left that spot. They’d been told to wait there.

Any time she saw Mickey Cohen wandering around, shaking hands and making nice, she kept her head down. Even if she had to take his picture, she made sure the camera covered her face.

Not that he was looking at her face… The dress _really_ was tight.

Snagging a pen from one of the waiters, and a stack of napkins from the bar, she made a dash for the hostess dressing room to take a few notes about what she was seeing, who she saw and where, and even to quickly sketch the goons at the back door. They made her the most nervous, which was usually a sign.

She didn’t want her notes to get found (she was brighter than that Dragna mook at Bunny’s), so she folded them up and tucked them securely into her bra. God’s natural purse, her mother used to say.

The rest of the night was busy enough to keep people from really staying in one place, and other than polite small talk, none of the other hostesses or waitresses asked her many questions about herself.

At the end of her shift, Evelyn collected her pay and went to change out of her borrowed dress into her regular clothes. On her way out, she saw the two guys at the back had been joined by a third—a skinny, squirrelly looking fellow with greasy hair.

Keeping to the shadows, she watched him hand over an envelope of cash, and one of the other guys counted it before nodding. The skinny guy took his cut and left out the back door.

_I’m not a cat, and my curiosity will not get me killed,_ she thought, about to leave.

Then she saw the two guys who had been standing there all night adjust the pistols in their belts and nod to each other, leaving out the back too.

She needed to go home. She needed to leave out the front door and not look back.

Evelyn glanced down the hall before hurrying to the back door, waiting a few seconds before cracking it open and looking out onto the dark alley.

The two goons were following the skinny guy.

_Go home, Evelyn. Go home and forget what you’re seeing._

Taking a steady breath, she waited for the men to be out of ear shot and she darted out the back door, ducking behind a building corner to stay out of sight.

Keeping a fair distance, she followed them for 2 blocks until the goons caught up to the skinny guy as he paused to light a cigarette.

The crack of a pistol against the back of his head echoed in the alley. With a pained grunt, he fell to the ground, and the two others took turns kicking him.

Evelyn’s hand flew to her mouth, silencing her gasp. Pressing into the side of the brick building she was hiding by, she could do nothing but wait and listen in the dark as Mickey Cohen’s men pummeled one of their own.

“Rat bastard,” one grumbled as his heel came down on the man’s arm. A cry of agony was cut off by a foot on his windpipe.

“Shut up you yellow bellied snitch.”

Kick after kick, soft flesh and bone stomped under their shoes. The sound was horrific. Splatters of blood hitting pavement, bones snapping, terrified cries… And all Evelyn could do was hide and wait, tears welling in her eyes.

“Finish it,” one of the men ordered, and there was a click of a revolver hammer getting pulled back.

A deafening gunshot shook her to her core, but she never made a sound. Her survival was more important than her desire to sob.

Eternity passed, or so it felt.

Finally, the men muttered to each other about whether to move the body.

“Nah, let the cops find him in a dumpster. Sends a message.”

They hoisted the dead man into the nearest garbage bin and wiped their hands as they left.

Evelyn was frozen, hands over her mouth, tears silently streaming down her face. Minutes went by before she could gather the strength to peel herself away from the brick wall and glance down the alley. Even in the dark, she could see the huge stain along the ground.

Her feet moved before she could tell her body what to do. Tripping slightly on a loose brick, she hurried down another alley, away from the scene. Wiping her face as she ran, she darted out into the street, dodging cars and refusing to stop until she was at least 3 blocks away.

A payphone. She needed a phone.

Spotting a bright red booth, she slowed her gait and clamored inside, shutting the folding door.

In the quiet, encased in glass and painted wood, she finally made a sound. The quietest, trembling sob from between tear-stained lips.

***

Kicking his shoes off, Joe didn’t even bother undressing before flopping onto his bed, too exhausted to care. He’d spent the last two nights working his regular cases in robbery homicide, taking meetings with the Organized Crime team, and once he was done with that, he was clocking in extra hours with Tug and his ‘Internal Affairs’ project.

At least Tug didn’t stare at him like he’d stepped in dog shit and tracked it through the station like Hendry or even Dolan. And Tug would have reason to, if he believed Joe was the one who gave up the safe house all those months back.

Apparently Tug was a lot like Eddie and Bill—Innocent until proven guilty and even then, maybe still not so bad after all.

And his wife really did make an excellent meatball sub.

Two days of looking through personnel files, making lists, bouncing ideas back and forth, trying to keep himself out of the pool of suspects for corruption… It was a lot to juggle.

Shoving his face into his pillow, Joe groaned. “I’m getting old.”

He’d feel better once he slept.

Sighing, he shut his eyes, and let himself drift.

The sharp ring of his telephone jolted him out of whatever semi-dream state he’d been in.

“Shit…” He muttered, barely lifting his head to look for the phone. Grabbing the receiver, he pressed it to his ear. Voice muffled by the pillow, he answered, “Yeah?”

There was silence on the other end, and he thought it was a wrong number.

Then he heard a noise… something like a sniffle.

“Hello?” He tried again.

A woman’s voice whispered back. “Joe?”

For a split second he thought it was Jasmine, but the octave was too high. And Jasmine knew better than to call him at his place.

Knew better than to call, period.

“Joe… It’s…”

“Evelyn?” He pushed up onto his elbow, reaching for the lamp next to his bed. “Evelyn, what’s wrong?”

She was crying. He could hear it now, tinny through the phone but still distinct.

Panic shot through him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… yes, I…” She tried to clear her throat. “Joe, I… I need your help.”

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he reached for his shoes. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m alright.” She sniffed again, like she was trying to stop her tears.

“What happened?”

There was a long pause before she spoke again, voice cracking. “They killed him… Two of Mickey Cohen’s men… They murdered someone in an alley. I saw them.”

Joe’s stomach flipped. _Shit._

“Where are you? Can you see a street sign?”

“I’m at a payphone… On the corner of 5th and Columbus.”

Yanking his shoe on, Joe nodded to himself. “Are you in a booth or are you in the open?”

“A booth.”

“Good, stay there, don’t get out. Pretend you’re on a call, don’t let anyone notice you. I’m on my way.”

“Joe…”

He halted, listening to her breathing hitch.

“Thank you.”

He grunted softly. “Just stay there. Don’t move. I’m coming.”

***

Their CI was an hour late when Hendry glanced up from the paper he’d been pretending to read at the window counter of Sal’s All-Night Diner. The street was mostly quiet, except for a few taxis and couples walking home.

That was when he spotted a familiar car barreling around a corner.

It was Joe Teague’s car. And he was breaking several traffic violations as he booked it down 5th.

Hendry frowned, watching the car disappear.

_Strange… Can’t wait to ask him where the fire was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from swing and jazz songs on this fic's playlist :)


	6. 'Round Midnight

Evelyn spotted headlights first, and then she saw the color of the car and the knot in her chest eased. She’d managed to stop crying after she hung up, but as soon as she saw Joe get out and hurry over, the tears threatened to spill again.

Pushing open the booth door, she stepped out. Strong hands gripped her by the arms, holding her steady.

“Evelyn?”

“Joe…” Her voice split on his name, and her vision blurred.

Pulling her closer, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She practically fell into his car when he opened the door, the effort to keep herself standing after all that… to act natural… had taken a toll on her. Her knees shook as she tucked herself into the passenger seat, but at least she wasn’t sobbing like she felt like she could.

Evelyn could hear her father’s voice saying over and over, _Stay strong. Don’t fall apart._

Joe climbed in on his side and started the engine, not wasting any time. It took her a few minutes to realize he wasn’t taking her to her apartment.

“Where are we going?”

“My place.” He slowed to turn a corner. “You’ll be safe there.”

“Be safe at my own apartment too. They didn’t see me, Joe. You think I’d still be breathing if they had?”

His jaw tensed, she could see it even in the dark. “Still. Better to be at my place than your own, at least for right now.”

God, did she want to argue, but she couldn’t muster up the energy. She just nodded and stared out the windshield as he drove.

Before she knew it, she was standing on his front stairs while he unlocked his door and lead her through the lobby. His apartment was only a couple floors up and his neighbors seemed much quieter and less nosy than her own.

Opening the door for her, he flicked on the light. “Here, I’ll take your coat.”

Numbly, she let him help it off her. “Nice place,” she murmured, stepping further into the small one bedroom. “Cozy.”

“It’s alright. I’m not here much.”

She glanced around, trying to find something else to talk about other than the images in her head playing over and over. She was at a loss.

Joe disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. “Here,” he said, offering it to her. “Have a seat.”

Blinking, she took the water and found the threadbare wingback, lowering herself into it.

“I feel like I’ve just had fireworks go off an inch from my head,” she said, staring at a spot on the wall.

“You’re in shock.”

“Is that what this is?” She sipped her water. “I don’t think I care for it much.”

Despite himself, Joe’s lips twitched in a quick smile. “I hate to make you talk about it, but… What did you see?”

Her fingers trembled against the glass, but she didn’t drop it. “Two of Mickey Cohen’s men following another man—a drop guy, I’m guessing, if the wad of cash he delivered was anything to go by. He gave them the money, they followed him, and then… They knocked him to the ground. Started kicking him… The sound it made. It was terrible.” She blinked, refocusing. “Then they shot him and tossed him into a nearby dumpster.”

“How do you know they were Mickey Cohen’s men?”

“Because I’d seen them at the club.”

She said it before she could stop herself.

Joe stepped forward, frowning at her. “The club? You mean The Clover?”

When she didn’t respond, he continued.

“What were you doing at the Clover Club?”

Evelyn sighed, knowing she should just tell him. “One of the girls at Bunny’s also works the Clover. She needed someone to cover for her—her mom’s been sick. So, I offered to help her out.”

She felt more than saw him squint at her. “That’s very generous of you, especially since you’ve never worked the Clover before, and you were trying your hardest to stay away from mob joints.”

“You think Bunny’s is a church? It’s not exactly squeaky clean either.”

Crossing his arms, Joe said, “At least Bunny’s isn’t on some hit list.”

“The Clover was never on that list I found,” she retorted.

“No but it’s owned by the target of those hits. All of those places belong to Mickey Cohen and you decide to stroll into The Clover like you didn’t even know?” He made a noise at the back of his throat, shaking his head. “C’mon Evelyn.”

Her fight or flight instinct was kicking in, self-preservation becoming the only need she had.

“I… I should go,” she muttered, standing up. “Thank you for coming to get me. I—”

Joe had her by the arm, holding her still. “Hey, look at me,” he murmured, voice dark but not exactly threatening. “Evelyn, you gotta talk to me. What were you doing there? Why’d you take that gig?”

Tears started to form, stinging her eyes. “You’re not going to like my answer.”

“Any answer is better than letting you walk out that door.”

After a moment, he released her arm and she swallowed hard.

“Shit,” she hissed, a couple tears falling from her lashes. “I just can’t help myself…”

“Evelyn?”

“I was doing the same shit I did in New York,” she blurted out, facing him finally. “I wanted to see if I could find out anything about the Cohen rackets, maybe find out what they were doing that would get their people killed.”

Joe’s eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head. “Wait, you were investigating Mickey Cohen? For a story?”

“Gotta work for a paper to have a story,” she corrected him. “This was just… My second nature. I can’t leave well enough alone.”

Realization dawned on him, showing in his eyes. “You took the gig to get closer to Cohen.”

“It fell into my lap and I couldn’t walk away,” she said, pacing around his small living room. “It’s not my best trait... Walking away. I’m terrible at it.”

“Clearly.”

Joe opened his mouth to say something else when his phone rang, the shrill noise cutting through the building tension.

“Teague,” he answered. “What?”

Evelyn took several deep breaths as she waited for him to finish his call.

“I’ll be right there… Yeah.”

Hanging up the phone, Joe looked to her. “That was Bill Parker. They found the body of the man you saw get killed.”

“Oh God…”

“It gets worse. He was the CI they were supposed to meet with.”

Evelyn’s quiet gasp still rang out in the room. “That’s why they killed him. He was a snitch.” Her gaze drifted down. “It makes sense… They called him ‘yellow bellied’ while they were…” She trailed off, not wanting to think about it.

“They’re gonna think it was me…”

She stared at him, shocked. “What?”

“We had a meet planned for this guy, he was supposed to turn stoolie, and then the night he’s supposed to show up to talk to the cops, he gets whacked?” Joe ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Shit, they’re gonna think I’m a mole…”

“Why would they automatically think it’s you?” Evelyn asked, stepping closer. “You weren’t the only one who knew—”

“’Cause this isn’t the first witness to get killed on a case I’ve worked.”

She pulled up short, stunned by his admission. “You…”

His gaze was haunted as he stared passed her. “A witness in the Bugsy Siegel case… We stashed him at a safe house I set up, and he got killed, along with another cop.”

Evelyn’s hand went to her throat. “Oh god.”

“There must’ve been a mole, someone who knew… They tipped off Siegel’s men. But the team I was with… They all thought it was me.”

“Why would they think that?”

“Because Sid Rothman, Bugsy’s favorite attack dog, had chained me to my own radiator and spent half the night tryin’ to beat the safe house location out of me.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“The guys I work with thought I gave it up.”

“Did you?”

His glare was hot, snapping on her skin like a whip. “Of course not. I’d never—”

Putting her hands up, she cut him off. “I was just checking. As much as I like you, I know people are capable of a lot, and pain is a great motivator.”

“Pain don’t mean jack to me,” he practically spat. Taking a deep breath, he settled himself and then glanced at her again. “Did you just say you like me?”

“Focus, Teague, I think we have more to worry about.” She took up her pacing again, chewing the inside of her lip. “Okay, so clearly there’s a mole in your department… And until we can prove otherwise, the men you work with are going to be under the assumption you did this.”

“Hendry already thinks I’m in the Mob’s pocket, this is just giving him more ammunition to sink me.”

“Only if we don’t cover you.”

Joe cocked his head, a smirk forming on his lips. “And how are _we_ supposed to do that?”

She made a noise in thought, turning to continue pacing. “I can alibi you.”

“Only for the last 30 minutes. They know the bag man was killed at least an hour ago.”

“When did you leave the station?”

He shrugged, the muscles of his shoulders bunching under his white dress shirt. “Ten-fifteen? Ten-thirty?”

Looking to the clock on the wall, Evelyn sighed. “Over two hours ago.”

“Some alibi,” he muttered, lowering himself into his chair.

An idea popped into Evelyn’s head that she wished didn’t make sense. And yet…

“Still could be. I told you, _I_ could alibi you.”

“We’ve only been together for thirty minutes—”

“But _they_ don’t know that.” She faced him, waiting for him to catch on. “We can go to the station together, we’ll tell them a looser version of what happened—”

“You wanna tell them you were at The Clover doing some digging of your own?”

She smirked. “No… But we can tell them you came to pick me up after work, which is true, and that we were… Together.” She emphasized the word and nearly laughed when his eyebrows shot to his hairline. “We’ll let them draw their own conclusions about the rest, but that at least gets you off their list of possible CI murderers.”

Joe’s grin was impressed, with a dash of smug. “You’re willing to tarnish your reputation on my account?”

“Not much of a reputation left to tarnish,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, as long as they’re not trying to brand me or my friend as a criminal.”

“Friend,” he repeated. “That what we are? Friends?”

Placing a hand on her hip, Evelyn sighed. “Honestly, I dunno what we are, Joe. But I guess we’re friend-like.”

His smile was warm as he said, “Works for me.”

“Well it better, otherwise your ass really is getting nailed to the wall.”

Standing up, Joe went for their coats. “Such language, Miss Conway.”

“Oh please,” she muttered. “You haven’t heard the worst of it yet.”

“Yet?”

“Don’t push me, Joe. It’s been a long night.”

***

Before heading upstairs, she stopped to check her make up in the mirror. No one would believe they’d been having a nice time together if her mascara was running and her blush was rubbed off.

Joe waited in the hall outside the ladies’ room and was spinning his hat in his hand when she came out, freshly powdered and painted. She caught how his eyes darted to her lips before quickly looking away and she fought not to grin.

As they walked to the elevator, she leaned closer.

“How do we want to play this?”

He furrowed his brow. “Excuse me?”

“Were we having a decent time, a good time, or a _really_ good time?”

It was like she’d asked him to explain theoretical physics. The man froze, eyes bulging slightly, staring into space.

“We’re off to a great start, aren’t we?” She teased, rolling her eyes.

He shrugged, and she let her gaze linger where his holster peeked out from his jacket.

“Maybe we go with… a _nice_ time?” He offered. “Ambiguous enough.”

She nodded. “Agreed. Plus, it’s believable.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened.

“What, you don’t think you’d have a _really_ nice time with me?”

Stepping into the lift, she smirked. “Don’t make me answer that.”

“Ouch.”

He leaned his shoulders back against the elevator wall and she kept her stare front and center. No more sneaking glances, unless it was in front of an audience they needed to convince.

She wasn’t nervous until she spotted Hal through the conference room window. His shock and confusion were clear as day, even at a distance.

“Break a leg,” Joe teased her under his breath before he sauntered forward, joining the others as she hung back.

“Joe…” Hal greeted. “Did we interrupt something?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Joe made a nondescript noise, trying to seem casual. “Sorta.”

Evelyn leaned her hip into a nearby desk, the picture of sultry and pleased.

Hal nodded to her, obviously a little flustered. “Well, I’ll try not to keep you.”

“It’s alright, I was, uh…” Joe looked over his shoulder again. “I was taking her home when you called.”

The pieces clicked together for Hal and he jerked his chin. “Ah. I see. Well, you’re not gonna like this…”

Hal gave him the rundown of the CI being found, when, where, how he’d been killed. It was just as brutal as Evelyn had described. And while Hal caught Joe up, Dolan wandered over to Evelyn, attempting to look casual and polite.

They both knew he was sniffing out any discrepancies in what Joe had alluded to. But they played their parts.

“Good to see you again, Miss Conway.”

She smiled softly. “You too, Detective Dolan.”

“Can I get you a cup of coffee? Or tea? I know it’s late.”

“Tea would be great, thank you.”

Stepping over to the little cart with the mugs and hot water, Dolan continued chatting.

“Forgive me for asking, but I, uh… I wasn’t aware you and Joe… knew each other.”

She offered another smile. “Well, we didn’t. Now we do.” She waited for him to catch her meaning before adding, “Funny how those things happen, huh?”

He grinned, stirring her tea. “Sure is. Sorry we had to cut your date short.”

“It was actually… wrapping up,” she said, taking the cup from him. “Been a long night. Longer than I think we anticipated.”

Dolan nodded. “As long as we didn’t snag him up in the middle or anything.”

“No, no, not at all. Joe picked me up after work, and… well…” She trailed off, knowing Dolan would connect the dots she’d laid out for him.

His eyes sparkled with interest—Men always were interested the second they caught a whiff of a woman with less than reputable morals. It bored her, really. There were so many other things to concern yourself with, how many times a person had been around the block was the lowest check point on her list.

“He didn’t take you to that greasy spoon on 5th, did he? I mean, I know Joe’s not a fancy guy but a lady such as yourself at least deserves something served on matching china.”

She laughed, a little too high and throaty for it to be her real laugh, but he’d never know that. “No, he did a bit better than that.” Wondering if supplying more details or less would be better, she glanced over to where Joe was talking to the others. “We mostly kept to ourselves. You understand.”

“I do,” Dolan said with a nod. “They shouldn’t be too much longer. Would you like to have a seat somewhere?”

“I’m alright,” she said. “Probably good to stretch my legs.” She winked and wandered away from the drink station, leaving Dolan to spin his wheels on that for a little bit.

She was getting better at this whole lying thing…

Weaving between desks, she glanced over to where the other men were talking. Behind them, tacked on a bulletin board, were photos of Mickey Cohen’s crew—the ones they knew of anyway. One of the faces looked familiar, and she wanted to get a better look without blatantly snooping. She continued her languid pace around the department, sipping her tea and inspecting photos and such on the other desks. When she got closer to the board, she could see the face clearly and her stomach lurched.

It was one of the goons that had killed that CI. She’d sketched him back at the Clover.

 _Shit, the notes,_ she thought, pausing with her cup in front of her face. She had several cocktail napkins worth of information tucked into her brassiere, some of it implicating that man on the board for murder.

And the only person she could trust it with was Joe. He was the only one she’d ruled out as the department mole. Everyone else, even the Boy Scout, were still under suspicion.

Christ, now she was sounding like a cop _and_ a journalist.

She finished her tea and watched Dolan lean into Hal’s ear, she assumed telling him her alibi for Joe in one fashion or another.

 _They just have to believe he didn’t kill this guy,_ she thought. _That’s all._

“Miss Conway,” Hal called for her and she turned her head, smiling.

“Yes, Detective?”

“I just wanted to apologize for interrupting your evening,” Hal said, looking genuine. “I’m sure this is a gruesome end to what was a pleasant night.”

So he wanted confirmation too, huh?

“It certainly wasn’t how I’d pictured our farewells, but…” She smirked. “I know it comes with the territory. With him being a cop, and all.”

“Good of you to be so understanding,” Hal said with a slight smile. “Joe will be free to take you home in just a moment.”

“Of course, take your time.”

Ten more minutes of pacing and occasional small talk with the other detectives and Joe was finally dismissed. She heard Hal tell him to drive careful, and something about starting fresh in the morning, and then Joe was walking towards her.

If she wasn’t mistaken, he looked awfully pleased…

“Ready?” He asked, gesturing down the hall. He placed his hand at her lower back, keeping up the pretense until they were out of sight, before dropping it.

“So…” She glanced up at him. “How’d I do?”

Joe pressed the call button for the elevator. “I take it back.”

“What?”

“You deserve an Academy Award for that performance.”

She beamed as they stepped into the elevator. “Bought it, huh?”

“Hook, line, and sinker. They think we were together the whole night.”

“Gets them off your back.”

“Gonna get you some funny looks around the station though…”

Shrugging, she folded her arms. “Like I said, I’m not worried about that.”

Joe fiddled with his hat in his hands, staring down for a moment. “Thank you, Evelyn.”

Looking at him, she payed renewed attention to the color of his eyes and the slope of his brow. She liked how tender he could seem when he was being sincere. A rare trait in a man like him.

“What are _friends_ for,” she said, smiling.

The elevator doors opened, and she started out into the lobby.

“Also, I’m pretty sure your coworkers think you’re a stud.”

Joe’s shoes squeaked as he faltered. Blinking, he deadpanned, “Great.”

Stifling a laugh, she said, “Better than the alternative.”

His deep chuckle was surprisingly sweet in her ears as they walked to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from swing and jazz songs on this fic's playlist :)


	7. Back It Up

Tossing his hat on his desk, Joe turned to Evelyn as she sat down. “Alright, we need to get a few things straight before we trip ourselves up with our own rope.”

“Sure you don’t want to sleep first?” She glanced at the clock. “It’s late… or early, depending on how you look at it.”

He crossed his arms and smirked at her. “That would give you too much time to come up with a new story.”

“Calling me a liar?”

“I just watched you play a room full of detectives like it was a game of jacks,” he said, stepping closer. “Not that I’m not grateful…”

“You just don’t want me doing the same to you,” she murmured, folding her hands in her lap. “I get it.”

“You just… You’re gonna have to trust me with whatever it is you’re hiding. ‘Cause if the wrong people find out you’ve got secrets—”

“Everyone has secrets, Joe.”

He clenched his teeth, trying not to seem too stern. “Not everyone runs across the country from theirs.”

She took a deep breath and he watched her, noting the way her hair was starting to fall from the pins she’d kept it back with. Even in the dim light her hair shown, glossy and rich against fair skin.

The centers of his palms itched, and he scratched his thumbnail against his callouses until they stung. Now wasn’t the time to crave touch…

Evelyn looked up to the ceiling before saying, “Does the name Meyer Lansky mean anything to you?”

Well _that_ wasn’t what he’d expected her to say.

“Bugsy Siegel’s friend?” He frowned, dread started to pool in his gut. “Don’t tell me you were…”

“I investigated Lansky for my paper,” she said. “Dug into his rackets and got some information about him and his buddies. He’s smart, he stuck mostly to the meat and liquor markets, practically owns all the docks from New York to the tip of Jersey…”

Pulling his desk chair out, Joe sat down across from her, leaning his forearms into the tops of his thighs. “And how the hell did you manage that?”

She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I make a good waitress, don’t I.”

Joe tipped his head back. It made sense. All the mob guys owned clubs and frequented their friends’ places too. Find the right one, and you’d be shoulder to shoulder with some of the most powerful gangsters in the country. And no one would suspect a cocktail waitress was snooping around, taking down names and information. It was smart.

He hadn’t given her acting skills enough credit.

“You worked one of Lansky’s clubs,” he murmured. “That’s how you got in.”

She nodded. “They were smart, kept most of their information locked up, but what I could find was good. Circumstantial, and probably couldn’t be brought to court, but it cast enough suspicion that the cops would have to start digging further.” Pausing, she stared down at her hands. “I should have done a better job…”

Joe furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I was the only female reporter at my paper,” she started, looking up at him. “Not an easy gig to get, but once I was there, I was ruthless. I went for a story, no matter what was in my way. My editor loved it, loved that I was willing to do what ninety percent of his other writers wouldn’t. He was a good man…”

Joe caught the use of past tense but decided to wait before asking.

“When I found that dirt on the Lansky rackets, we both decided if I put my name on the article it would be a blazing target on my back. We talked it over and thought a pseudonym would be better—a male name, since being a woman working for a newspaper already made me stick out like a sore thumb.” Evelyn shook her head, sneering at herself. “I was such an idiot…”

He was about to ask her what she meant, but she continued.

“I didn’t think. I picked a name—Mark Goodard—But didn’t think about the initials… Or how they matched up with the initials of my editor, Matthew Gessuppe.” Her eyes started to shine with unspent tears. “A week after the article came out, the police started to investigate Lansky more, starting looking into his friends… And my editor’s body washed up on the bank of the Hudson.”

“Shit,” Joe whispered, folding his hands in front of his face, leaning on his elbows. “They thought it was him.”

Evelyn nodded. “No one knew about me going undercover at Lansky’s club, no one knew I was writing the article… But I couldn’t take any chances. That night I packed my bag, and got on the first train out of the city. Spent a couple days in Chicago, just in case I was being followed, before coming here. After a week I figured I hadn’t been found out—by the mob or the police—so I decided to settle in. LA seemed like a city to get lost in…”

Joe regarded her in silence, taking in her story.

So much about her made sense now. Why she was allusive at best, why she’d blown him off so many times, the fake names, the reluctance to even file an official report. But she clearly had a conscience—She’d dug into the mob back in NY, she’d wanted to do the right thing with the hit list from Dragda’s men.

Eddie had been right… Clean didn’t mean _not_ interesting.

Evelyn Conway was trouble with a heart of gold.

Maybe he could relate.

“You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He asked, fighting a smile. “Caught the first whiff of a story and…”

“I told you.” She locked eyes with him. “It’s second nature.”

Running his hand over his jaw, he sighed. This wasn’t ideal—a reporter on the run from one mob, only to find herself momentarily employed by another. And now she’d witnessed a murder.

Making a noise, Evelyn started to get out of the chair. “I forgot, I saw a picture at the station and it reminded me of something I have…”

She started to unbutton the top button of her dress and Joe nearly threw his neck out looking away.

“Evelyn, what are you--?”

“Huh? Oh!” She shook her head at him. “No, it’s in my brassiere.”

Clearing his throat, he shifted his eyes up to her face quickly. “Well, yes… that’s generally where they’re kept…”

“My _notes_ , Joe.”

He turned to face her again. “Your what?”

“I saw a few things at the club—before the guy got…” She let that sentence fall away. “I took notes down on some cocktail napkins, but I didn’t want anyone to find them, so I tucked them away.” Pulling the paper free, she quickly buttoned her dress back up. “I’ve never seen a grown man’s ears go so red…”

“Stop it,” he muttered, standing up and taking the folded-up napkins from her. “You took notes from Mickey’s club?”

“Just a few suspicious things I saw while I was working, things I wanted to look into further tomorrow.” She leaned closer, pointing to a few lines. “See?”

Joe shuffled through each napkin, reading her tiny, barely legible writing. “Your handwriting is chicken scratch.”

“You try keeping good penmanship on a bar napkin with a borrowed pen.”

He smirked, gaze darting up to her face. This close he could smell her perfume—light, clean… Like a spring breeze with something floral. Lavender he guessed.

Turning to the last napkin, he stopped. “You drew the guys you saw?”

Evelyn nodded. “They creeped me out, which is usually a good indicator they’re not average patrons.”

He stared at the pen marks on wrinkled paper. Her handwriting was terrible but her art skills weren’t half bad. He recognized one of the guys…

“That’s one of Sid Rothman’s buddies. He worked for Seigel before Mickey took top slot.” He frowned in thought. “Tug shot him.”

“Well from what I saw tonight he was alive,” she said.

“Nah, Tug shot him in the leg… That other witness I told you about, this was one of the guys who found out about the safe house. He offed our witness, but Tug shot him a few times in the knee before he got away.”

“Tug saw him and they didn’t arrest him?”

Joe shook his head. “He’d lost his glasses… Poor guy couldn’t see the thug’s face. But I saw him a few nights later, limping like he’d taken a bad hit. It was a gut feeling, I knew it was him.”

“Look at you _detecting_.” Evelyn smiled, and Joe’s stomach jumped.

“Yeah, I do that from time to time.”

Glancing back down at the notes in his hands, Joe inhaled. “This is enough to take to Parker,” he started. “You saw these guys follow the CI, witnessed the shooting… It would get them sent away.”

Evelyn snatched the napkins out of Joe’s hands. “You can’t be serious.”

“Evelyn you witnessed a crime—”

“And you have a mole in your department, probably have half a dozen,” she snapped. “If I go into Parker’s office and tell him what I saw, tell him I have _notes and drawings_ of those mooks, how long do you think I’ll have before I wind up with my brains splattered on the side of a building?”

Foreign, insurmountable emotion flooded Joe’s chest, threating to steal his oxygen.

“I’m not gonna let _anything_ happen to you, you understand? Nothing.”

He heard the register of his voice, how graveled and raw it sounded, but he couldn’t cover it. Evelyn noticed it too if her widened eyes were anything to go by.

“Then we can’t take this to Parker, not yet anyway,” she told him softly. “We’ve gotta play this safe and close to the vest.”

“Lie to tell the truth…”

He was doing a lot of that these days.

Remorse darkened her blue eyes. “I think it’s our only option right now. At least until we figure out who’s trustworthy.”

She was right. He knew she was.

“Yeah…” He nodded, gaze dropping to the floor. “We gotta put these somewhere safe.”

“You can’t keep them, what if someone at the station sees?”

His mouth quirked up in a smile. “I wasn’t going to keep them _on_ me, but thank you for your concern.”

“Then where are we going to put them?”

Turning, he clucked his tongue and wandered over to his bookshelf. Pushing a few books aside, he showed her the gun safe he had hidden.

“We’ll put them here,” he said, crouching in front of the safe, spinning the dial. “Anything else you find, anything you decide to chicken scratch onto a napkin, we’ll put it in here.”

“Do I get to know the combination?”

“No.” Dropping the napkins into the safe, he closed the door and locked it.

“What happened to being friend-like, Joe?”

He stood up, turning to face her. “The fewer people who know the combination, the better. If something happens, if they want inside that thing, they’ll have to torture it out of me, not you.”

A delicate crease formed between her eyebrows as she stared at him. “Do you… really think that’s a possibility?”

“I dunno,” he murmured. “I didn’t think Sid Rothman would break into my apartment, and yet…”

“Please tell me you changed the locks since then…”

Joe chuckled, easing his shoulder holster off. “Yeah, I did. You’re safe.”

He noticed her gaze tracking him as she said, “I believe that.”

Hanging the holster up, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m being serious, Evelyn.”

“So am I,” she told him quickly. Stepping closer, she locked eyes with him. “Trust me, Joe, I am under no illusions that I wouldn’t have made it through tonight without you. You’ve stuck your neck out for me—”

“You did the same for me.”

Her smile was soft, tender, curving its way across his heart.

“Well… We’re helping each other, right?”

He nodded and that itch in his palms returned. He wondered if her hair was as soft as it looked…

“It’s been a long night. I’ve gotta be at the station early and you’ve…”

“Gotta steel myself for going back to the Clover.”

“You’re going back?”

“If I don’t, it’ll look suspicious. Besides, I’m only there for two weeks while Marie takes care of her mother, then I’m home free.”

“Don’t say that, you’ll jinx it.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Should’ve known you were the superstitious type.”

When he stared at her in question, she nodded behind him to the baseball bat in the corner. “Never met a baseball player that wasn’t.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Ah… yeah.”

Joe could tell she wanted to ask him more about his small collection of belongings—his boxing gloves hanging up by their coats, his military class photo, the picture of his parents on the desk—but she held them for later.

“You should get some sleep,” he told her. “I’ll take the couch, you have the bed.”

Shifting her weight, she tilted her head. “Thank you.”

“Sure.”

The exhaustion he’d kept at bay started gaining on him, and Joe was less than graceful as he sat to take off his shoes. Evelyn continued to stand, looking increasingly lost.

“Uh, the bathroom is down the hall, that way.” He gestured, and her gaze followed. “Nothing fancy in there but there’s soap and wash rags, towels. And, um… here…” He stood up, going over to click off the lamp. “Trouble with small apartments… No privacy.” He blinked, eyes adjusting to the lack of light. “Give me to the count of five and I’ll be over there, with my back to you.”

He heard her laugh, soft and gentle. “You really are a gentleman.”

“I try. Sometimes I succeed.” In the dark he could just barely make out the shape of her. “Start counting.”

“Five… four…”

Joe crossed the small space, back onto the couch. The frame creaked as he sat, and then curled over onto his side, away from Evelyn.

She finished counting and he listened to fabric rustling, a zipper being pulled down, and then her movements as she stepped out of her dress. His mattress squeaked a little as she sat on the edge to unbuckle her shoes.

It was almost more torturous than if he’d watched the whole thing with a spotlight. The imagination was a wonderous and damned thing…

He heard her settling into his bed, pulling at the covers and adjusting his pillows.

Joe cursed himself for the spike in his pulse at the realization he’d have her scent—that light, clean, lavender spring perfume—all over his sheets when she left.

 _Anya’s right,_ he thought. _I am a sap._

“Goodnight, Joe,” she whispered, and he jumped in his skin.

Swallowing hard, he said, “Goodnight, Evelyn.”

***

Sunlight had preceded the buzzing of Joe’s alarm by about twenty minutes, helping Evelyn wake gently. Still, she decided to doze—not like she had to be anywhere until that evening—and listen to Joe move around his apartment.

He put the water kettle on the stove to warm for coffee before shuffling over to his dresser, quietly opening a few drawers to retrieve fresh work clothes.

She must have fallen back to sleep, because the next thing that woke her was the smell of coffee, toast, and eggs.

Stretching, she quickly recalled the previous night, everything that had happened, from the alley to the payphone, from Joe coming to get her to being at the station, and now…

“You awake?”

Rolling her head on the pillow, she squinted in the direction of his voice. “No.”

Chuckling, Joe set something down on the nightstand and the smell of breakfast grew stronger. “Maybe you will be for this.”

She started to sit up, making sure her silk slip was still in its _proper_ place before tugging the blankets down.

“You cooked,” she said, raking her fingers through her hair. “I didn’t know that was in your skill set.”

“Doesn’t take a genius to scramble a few eggs,” he said, sliding a cup of coffee next to her plate.

Evelyn scrunched her nose, deciding not to mention her lack of culinary expertise.

“You take it black, right?” He asked. “Touch of sugar?”

Evelyn nodded and finally looked up at him fully.

My, what a sight first thing in the morning. A handsome, freshly shaved man smiling softly at her.

It was enough to make her wistful.

“Thank you, Joe,” she murmured, picking up her plate and fork.

“I gotta head to the station, but I wanted to make sure you had something to eat first.”

“You’re leaving now?”

He sat on the arm of the sofa across from her. “I’ve got a few minutes.”

Digging her fork into her eggs, she asked, “So… What’s the plan?”

“I’ll see what Hal’s thoughts on last night are—what they know of what happened, anyway. You alibied me pretty sufficiently, so I don’t think I’ll be getting the third-degree from anyone.”

In a drowsy, half self-satisfied move, Evelyn saluted with her fork, and Joe laughed.

“You sure about going back to the Clover?”

She nodded as she chewed. “If I don’t go back the day after they whack one of their own guys, someone might put it together. It’s better to go in and pretend I’m just a substitute waitress for the next two weeks.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Sipping her coffee, she winked over the rim of her cup at him just to see him fight a grin and look away. “Besides, that spangly dress I have to wear is so tight no one’s paying much attention to anything above my collar bones.”

Joe’s face was comical—if he’d been drinking coffee, he’d have choked.

“See? You’ve got your cover, and I’ve got mine,” she said, tearing her slice of toast in half.

“Sounds like only one of us is _covered_ …”

She smirked, and Joe stood up, going to put his holster and badge on.

“I won’t be done at the station until you’re already at the Clover,” he said. “But if something happens—”

“I’ve got your card in my purse.”

“Good.” He slid his arms into his jacket. “You’ll come back here?”

“Two nights away from my place? What will my neighbors think?”

He paused, considering what she’d said. “You’re right… Your neighbors are nosy, they’ll notice if you’re gone. We’ve gotta stay at your place tonight.”

“ _We_?” Her eyebrows arched, staring at him in disbelief.

“Evelyn you witnessed a mob hit, and you’re currently, and against my better judgement, still working at a mob owned club. Not only that, you’re snooping around for information—”

“That could help _your_ case.”

“Still. You live alone, if something happens and you don’t come home, no one will know.” She caught how his hands twitched, clenching and unclenching into fists. “Someone’s gotta keep tabs on you.”

It was the look on his face that made her ‘my neighbors will know’ comment die on her tongue. Joe was really worried about her safety… Something fueled by one of the ghosts of his past, she assumed.

“Alright,” she said finally. “But I don’t want any cracks about my house keeping.”

His eyes were sparkling as he said, “Wouldn’t dare.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from jazz and swing songs on this fic's playlist :)


	8. I Put a Spell on You

Joe was in the middle of pouring himself a cup of coffee when Mike Hendry appeared at his side, eyeing him like he was another perp.

“Morning Mike,” Joe said, voice flat. “Coffee?”

“Heard you had an interesting night last night.”

Joe set the coffee carafe down. “Heard from who?”

“Practically half our squad who was here when you rolled up with a broad.”

“Her name’s Evelyn. Miss Conway to you,” Joe nearly snarled. “And I don’t think what we do or do not do in our free time is any of your concern.”

“It’s just funny, is all…” Mike smacked his lips as he took out his tooth pick. “You saying you were with _Miss Conway_ —” He intoned her name pointedly. “—When I could’ve sworn I saw you driving like a bat outta hell on 5th Ave last night.”

Squaring his shoulders, Joe stared down at the man. “You seen my car? Not exactly the most unique vehicle in the lot. What makes you so sure it was me?”

“Driver looked an awful lot like you,” Mike said, his stare unrelenting. “Your car might be run of the mill, but you…”

“Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind, Hendry.”

Mike paused, a sly smirk forming on his lips. “You ever hear of Déjà vu? That feeling that something is repeating itself over and over. I’m getting that feeling now. Another mob case, another dead witness, and you prowling around in the shadows.”

Joe clenched his teeth. “That what you think I’m doing? Prowling?”

“I think you’re up to something,” Mike said. “I might not know what yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t figure it out.”

“Nothing _to_ figure out.”

Mike’s stare flicked over him. “Yeah… We’ll see about that.” Popping his toothpick back in his mouth, he strolled away, leaving Joe with his coffee and the urge to put his fist through the wall.

***

Evelyn was _not_ snooping.

She couldn’t help if certain things were left out in the open in Joe’s apartment… Just sitting there, waiting to be opened, picked up, inspected.

Alright, so she was snooping a little. Not with any malicious intent, of course. She was just curious about the Detective she’d found herself in allegiance with.

After about ten minutes she’d found out a few basics.

Joe was a baseball player, but if the condition of his glove was anything to go by, he hadn’t played in a while. He was also a boxer, or had been—his boxing gloves hung up near the door, and she’d found a couple newspaper clippings tucked in a frame with a photo of him and another man in a gym. The clippings were a few years old, since before the war.

Joe was a simple man. Nothing too extravagant, his clothes were of good quality but mended, which meant he didn’t like to buy anything new unless he absolutely had to. He cared about his grooming though—top of the line razors, good shaving creams and aftershave, even those little sticks used to staunch the bleeding if he nicked himself.

She wasn’t surprised by any of that though. He was a Marine—she saw the photos on his desk-- so being well-groomed and neat were ingrained.

He was tidy, but that was easy when there wasn’t much to clean up. He wasn’t exactly a materialistic fellow.

She _was_ pleased to discover he had good taste in bourbon, and he wasn’t completely lacking in personality—he had a small collection of books and magazines she approved of, as well as a good radio tuned in to a local station playing moody blues.

Evelyn had almost satisfied her curiosity, about to wrap up her inquiry into Master Gunnery Sergeant Teague, when she spotted the corner of a photo album sticking out from under his bed.

 _Just leave it,_ she thought. _It’s probably just more photos of his military platoon. His police academy days. His parents…_

 She was tugging it out from between the mattress and box spring before she could stop herself.

The first few photos were just as she suspected—photos of family and friends, a graduation class—but after flipping a few pages back, she found the reason she suspected he didn’t have the album out on his end table in plain view.

Wedding photos. Joe in his uniform standing next to a beautiful woman in a white dress and veil.

Sitting on the bed, Evelyn turned the pages gently.

They looked happy. The picture of romance. It made something seize in her chest that she blatantly ignored.

Turning to the end of the album, she saw Joe’s medals of honor and purple hearts. But that was it. There was nothing to indicate what happened to the woman in the photos

 If she’d died, it would make sense why he’d keep the album out of sight—too painful to look at. Or maybe she’d left… Another kind of sorrow that still explained keeping the album hidden.

Evelyn’s curiosity soured momentarily. She’d only meant to find more about the man Joe was, get an understanding of his life, maybe find a thing or two to tease him playfully about later. But this… She felt like she’d accidentally cracked open the man himself, poking around something very vital, very wounded, possibly still painful for him for one reason or another.

Quickly, she stood up and returned the photo album to its hiding spot with hands that felt unclean.

 _I won’t ask, and if he doesn’t tell, I’ll take what I know to the grave,_ she thought. _This’ll be the one thing I don’t need answers for._

After making sure she put everything back, and cleaned her breakfast dishes, Evelyn took the spare key Joe had given her and left, locking up behind her. She had enough time to get back to her place, shower and get ready for her shift at the Clover.

On her way out of Joe’s building, a man in a nice suit stopped to hold the door for her.

“Ma’am,” he greeted, nodding to her.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling.

He was handsome, and around Joe’s age. Clean shaven and dapper, dark hair slicked back from his face. His tie was an eye sore though… Loud colors and chunky print of what looked like playing cards.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, she turned and saw him lingering by the mail boxes, jotting a note down on something before sliding it into a tenant’s box.

She was several paces away before she realized it was Joe’s box he’d dropped the note in…

***

Joe had never been more thankful for paperwork in his life.

His new on-loan position with Tug’s internal affairs unit kept him busy and away from most of the mob squad’s doings. He was there for the meeting with Bill Parker, listened to the reports from the lab techs—what little they had anyway—and had front row to a nice little spat between Eddie and Dolan about the benefits of another thug round up.

They bickered worse than a married couple. And he would know.

After that though, Tug needed him down the hall, and that’s where he’d stayed for the majority of the day. Afternoon turned into evening which turned into night and by nine, Tug was calling it quits.

They’d found several more cases of cop pay-offs but were lacking enough evidence to take to the commissioner, and it felt like banging his head against a wall.

“Slow and steady,” Tug told him. “It’ll win the race eventually.”

Joe sighed. “Just hope I’m not ninety when it’s won.”

Tug laughed and said goodnight, and Joe made his way out of the office soon after.

Waiting for the elevator, he gripped the key Evelyn had given him in his pocket. He couldn’t decide if he was looking forward to seeing her, being in her place for the night, or if he was dreading it.

Both. It was both.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone in Hal’s office, and he quickly looked.

Mike Hendry was talking Hal’s ear off, and from the looks of it, Hal wasn’t too pleased about whatever he was saying.

_Bet I know what he’s flapping his mouth about…_

The elevator doors opened, and he caught Hal’s stare just before stepping in and hitting the button for the lobby.

Not twenty minutes later he was trying to sneak into Evelyn’s apartment like he was a cat burglar. He had a key, sure, but he knew from previous experience that any footsteps at all would bring Mrs. Balsam to the door, and the rounds of questioning would begin. He’d been tempted to offer her a job as an interrogator at the station, she had just that much stamina for it.

But he felt like Evelyn had already put herself out enough as it was, he didn’t want to give her neighbors more to add to the rumor mill.

So, with the lightest steps a man of his size could manage, he made it up the four flights of stairs and quickly and quietly unlocked the door. Slipping inside, he shut the door behind him… and immediately banged his knee on a nearby end table with a loud thud.

  Cursing, he rubbed the soreness and searched for a light switch.

_Some cat burglar I am._

He heard Mrs. Balsam at her door, stepping into the hallway. “Is someone there?”

With his hand over the light switch, Joe held his breath and waited. After a moment, Mrs. Balsam retreated into her apartment and shut her door.

Joe counted to five, and then turned on the light. Just in case.

Evelyn’s was a far cry from his own apartment. For a woman who’d only been in town a little over a month, she sure did decorate fast.

Her furniture was basic, but she made up for it with throw pillows and warm blankets draped over the backs of her sofa and chair. Stacks and stacks of books lined the wall under her window, clearly without home given her one bookcase was overflowing. A record player was out on one of her end tables, a crate of records underneath.

Taking his jacket and hat off, he hung them both up by the door, and wandered across her living room to her kitchen. Another stack of cook books was next to her stove, along with a canister crammed full of utensils. She had a small kitchen table, covered by a lace table cloth, and only a couple chairs. Her neighbor was right, she didn’t seem to have people over often.

Through the kitchen he spotted the door to her bedroom, but he refrained from going in. He could see her quilted bedspread though, and what looked like a dressing gown tossed over the end of the bed.

It felt strange, and a little voyeuristic, to be in someone’s home without them there. If she were a suspect, he’d start digging around, but she wasn’t… She was a friend.

Well, friend-like.

And as much as he wanted to, he’d keep his inquisitive self in check and stick to her living room and kitchen until she got home.

Helping himself to a glass of water, he took a seat in her armchair—the one with the yellow knitted afghan on the back—and settled in.

He must’ve fallen asleep, because his head jolted up at a noise and he grunted in alarm.

“Shit…”

It was Evelyn in the hall, thudding and hissing another curse. Frowning, Joe stood up, scrubbing his hand over his face.

Before he could get to the door, it opened, and Evelyn hobbled in, carrying one of her shoes.

 “Evelyn?” He strode forward, reaching for her.

“Hi honey, I’m home,” she said sarcastically, leaning on the doorframe.

“What happened? Are you okay?” He steadied her with one hand while he shut the door, sure Mrs. Balsam would be coming out any second.

Evelyn tried to stand up straight, but she clutched Joe’s arm for support. “I slipped on a spilled plate of linguine at the club,” she said. “Fell and twisted my ankle.”

“Here,” he said, offering her another hand.

“If you try to pick me up…”

Even injured she was still a spitfire.

Flashing a grin, he said, “Wasn’t gonna.”

“Good. Just… Help me to the sofa?”

Encouraging her to use him as a crutch, he walked her over to the sofa and eased her down on the cushions. He took her shoe from her and knelt in front of her, inspecting her ankle.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” he said, gently pressing his thumb along the joint.

Evelyn hissed and started to pull her foot back, but he held her steady.

“Easy, easy,” he murmured, cupping her heel and testing if she could bend it. “Prop it up here and I’ll get you some ice.”

It was then he noticed she was still in her spangly dress under her coat and his throat went dry.

“Didn’t wanna change?” He asked, trying for nonchalant.

Evelyn pulled her leg up, settling her foot on a throw pillow. “The zipper got jammed. Insult to injury.”

Standing, he crossed the room into the kitchen, snagging a towel off the counter. “A black cat didn’t walk in front of you this morning, did it?”

“Baseball players…” He heard her mutter and he couldn’t stop from smiling.

Filling the towel with ice, he glanced around. “You got any aspirin?”

“In the bathroom,” she said, wincing as she tried to get comfortable. “At least something good came out of all this.”

He waited until he was out of the bathroom with the aspirin bottle to respond.

“What’s that?”

“I made such a racket when I fell, no one asked what I was doing coming out of the back room through the kitchen.”

Joe stalled, blinking at her. “You…”

“I got more to fill up your gun safe,” she said, fishing down the front of her dress. “Now don’t faint on me, Teague.”

“Stop it,” he muttered, stepping closer but averting his gaze.

Whistling between her teeth, she waved a piece of paper at him. “Take a look at that.”

He traded her the aspirin for the paper. Unfolding it, he ignored how warm it was from being pressed against her body.

“What’s this?” He asked, skimming over it.

“A shipping schedule,” she said, dry swallowing a couple pills. “If my hunch is right, it’s gonna be something related to Dragda’s rackets. Bananas, right?”

“And guns.” He read over the schedule again. “This could mean Mickey Cohen is planning a hit.”

“Or a heist,” she added.

“This is good… This is a lead.”

Pulling her arms out of her coat where she sat, she teased, “’Thank you, Evelyn.’ You’re welcome, Joe.”

Easing her leg up, Joe sat down and put her foot in his lap, pressing the ice to the darkest part of the bruise. Evelyn winced but didn’t move.

Lowering his voice, he said, “Thank you, Evelyn.”

She smiled at him. “You’re welcome, Joe.”

He was quiet, looking down at her injured foot, checking on the swelling from time to time.

“How were things at the station?”

He sighed through his nose and glanced up. “Mike Hendry saw me driving to get you last night.”

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

Joe shook his head. “Wish I was. I gave him an ear full, but he’s thought I was a rat since the Bugsy Seigel case last year. I don’t think he’s gonna let this go easily.”

“What do we do?”

His thumb massaged the arch of her foot gently. “We stick to our story. He doesn’t have anything concrete, just that he saw my car—”

“I’ve seen ten just like yours today alone,” Evelyn interjected. “Not exactly an air tight case.”

Joe grinned at her. “That’s what I told him. He said he saw me, but… I think he was just trying to rattle me.”

Tilting her head against the back of the couch, she murmured, “You don’t strike me as the type to rattle easy.”

He chuckled. “Not exactly.”

“Good news for us then.”

They were both quiet, and Joe was a little baffled at how… nice it felt. Calm. Comfortable.

After a few moments, Evelyn groaned and started to pull her foot out of his hold.

“Where you planning to hobble to?” He asked, corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Figured I’d better get out of this dress before I fall asleep in it,” she admitted, slowly getting off the couch.

Keeping his gaze lowered, he nodded. “Don’t put too much weight on that foot. Gotta let it rest.”

“Sir, yes sir,” she called, limping into the bedroom.

Joe stayed on the couch, keeping the towel with the ice on his knee for when she got back. Everything was quiet until he heard a low groan and then…

“Uh, Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“…I forgot the zipper was stuck. Could you, um… help me?”

He was fine. He was absolutely fine. He would not let his spike in blood pressure allude to anything else.

“Uh, sure,” he muttered, standing up slowly.

Pausing at her bedroom door, he knocked.

“Can’t be indecent if I can’t get the zipper down,” she retorted through the wood and he rolled his eyes.

“They’re called ‘manners’, Evelyn,” he said, opening the door and stepping in.

She’d turned on a lamp by her bed, soft light showcasing what he’d kept himself from looking at before. Her bed looked even softer and more welcoming up close…

Evelyn sighed, still fiddling with the zipper at her back.

“Here,” he said, walking over. “Let me, before you snap it.”

Dropping her hands, she turned. “Thanks.”

He hummed quietly as a ‘you’re welcome’ before starting in on the zipper. Taking a steadying breath, he focused on the metal teeth refusing to yield, not the beauty mark at the back of her neck, or the way her hair was barely brushing across his knuckles.

It was a fight from both ends—the zipper and his focus.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity breathing in her perfume and pretending it didn’t affect him, the mechanism caught the right track and the zipper slid down with ease.

“Oh, thank God,” she exhaled, and Joe was glad she couldn’t see his face.

Taking a few steps back, he grunted, “I’ll leave you to it,” before hurrying out of the room.

_Trouble. That woman is trouble._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from swing and jazz songs on this fic's playlist :)


	9. Duke's Last Soliloquy

That night, Evelyn awoke to the sound of distressed mumbling.

She blinked, reorienting herself of where she was and who was with her. Joe had taken the couch, and she’d left her door open a fraction like she always did at night. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but it must have been late.

In the quiet of her dark apartment, she heard more mumbling—Joe was talking in his sleep.

At first, she thought about rolling over and closing her eyes again. Plenty of people talked in their sleep, it wasn’t something to get worked up over.

But the pitch of his voice changed, and his mumbling turned into whimpers.

He was having a nightmare.

Sitting up, Evelyn turned on her lamp and glanced at the clock. Five am was a helluva hour to get up, but she couldn’t just leave him be.

Careful with her sore ankle, she climbed out of bed and quickly wrapped herself in her dressing gown before opening her door and heading into the living room.

Sprawled on his back, Joe had one arm over his face and the other hanging off the couch, his legs twitching in his sleep. He was muttering incoherently, and from what she could see in the dim light, he was scowling.

“Joe?” She whispered, hoping to rouse him. “Joe, wake up…”

The arm that was over his face thrashed out and she gasped, even though she was a safe distance away.

She’d seen this kind of nightmare before… More like a night terror. Joe wasn’t the only veteran she knew.

“Joe, you’re safe.” She moved to be across from him, but close enough that he’d hear her. “Joe, you’re home. It’s alright. Wake up, Joe.”

In a flurry of movement, Joe flung his arm out like he was punching someone, and the momentum caused him to roll off the couch, slamming his fist into the end table and knocking his chin on the floor.

“Oh god!” She cried, rushing over to him.

Sinking to her knees at his side, she grabbed for his head to see if he was injured, and he jerked away from her, eyes wild and disoriented, sucking in air like he was dying.

“Joe—Hey, it’s alright, it’s me, it’s Evelyn,” she told him, holding her hands up.

“Ev—What—”

“Shh, it’s alright, you were having a nightmare,” she said, starting to reach for him again.

Joe blinked rapidly, gaze finally focusing on her. He was coming back to himself.

“Hey,” she murmured. “It’s alright, you’re safe now, Joe.”

“Evelyn?” His voice cracked on her name. Looking around, he grappled with the side of the couch, trying to pull himself up. “What… Christ, did I…”

“You were having a nightmare, you—”

“Did I hurt you?” His expression was agonized as he tried to gather his wits. “Did I--?”

Clutching his shoulders, she held him steady, shaking her head. “No, no, you didn’t. You were dreaming, and you accidentally flung yourself off the couch.”

Still gasping for air, he shifted so his back was against the sofa, pulling one knee close to his chest. “I… I don’t remember… I…” Glancing at her, he whispered, “You’re sure I didn’t…?”

“You never touched me, Joe. I promise. I came out here when I heard you talking.”

“What… what was I saying?”

“I’m not sure, I couldn’t really hear.”

Making a noise at the back of his throat, he nodded jerkily. After a moment he flexed his hand, realizing he was pain.

“You nearly put your fist through my end table,” she told him softly. “Knocked your chin pretty bad too.”

Lifting his uninjured hand to his face, he pressed the growing bruise under his jaw. “So that’s why I feel like I got decked.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t bite off your tongue or something.”

He wouldn’t look at her, kept his head down and eyes on the floor, and she could practically feel the shame rolling off him.

Hand on his forearm, she didn’t inch away. “It’s okay, Joe. It happens.”

His lip curled in a sneer. “Sure, everyone fights in their sleep.”

Watching him a moment, she said, “The nightmares started after the war, right?”

That got him to look at her. He didn’t speak, but he was holding her stare as she continued.

“My father was drafted in the Great War,” she said. “I have memories from when I was a little girl of him crying out in his sleep, thinking someone was trying to kill him. They got better over the years. Would only really come back if he was overly stressed or anxious, or if he was somewhere unfamiliar.” She waited for Joe to understand. “You’re all three of those things currently.”

Even in the dark she could see the shine of tears in his eyes. Tears he’d never let spill, not in front of her anyway.

“My brother was in the army for this war,” she said. “He has trouble in tight spaces and crowds. He’s getting better though, too.”

Joe sniffed, shaking his head a little. “Why are you telling me this?”

“To let you know I’m not unfamiliar with this kind of thing. That it doesn’t scare me.” She squeezed his forearm. “So you know you’re not alone.”

He tried to look at her, but his gaze broke away. “I could’ve… I could’ve hurt you, Evelyn.”

“But you didn’t. And I don’t see any reason for you to be shamed for something you _didn’t_ do.”

They sat in silence for a while, Evelyn’s words still hanging between them. When her knees started to ache, she shifted back.

“I’m going to make some tea,” she said. “Would you like some?”

Joe shook his head. “No, I’m alright.”

“Okay. I’ll get you some ice for your chin.”

When she returned with the same dish towel from earlier filled with ice, she laughed to herself.

“We’re a pair, huh? A sore ankle and a busted chin.”

“Might make people talk,” he said, taking the ice from her.

“Just tell them I punched you. Folks will get a kick out of that.”

In the faint light from her bedroom and the street lamps outside her window, she caught Joe’s flash of a smile, and relief flooded her.

Her father came out the other side. Joe Teague would too.

***

Thanks to his less than pleasant wake up call, Joe was up in plenty of time to go back to his apartment for a quick shower and change his clothes. Evelyn agreed to meet him at Bunny’s after her shift and they’d flip a coin to see whose apartment they’d stay at that night. He took her pilfered shipping schedule with him when he left, to add to the collection in his gun safe.

He’d never admit he didn’t _want_ to leave that morning. Evelyn had put on a record while she made breakfast—over cooked eggs and soggy toast that he’d wanted to tease her about but couldn’t bring himself to after his mortifying outburst—and she’d been swaying while she cooked. She even hummed a few bars when she thought he was still in the bathroom.

It was lovely. Not just sweet, or entertaining, but comforting in a way that only small moments like that could be. Seeing her in her dressing gown, short black hair tousled around her face, hips moving side to side… It woke something up inside him he’d thought had died a long time ago, the moment a train pulled out of Union Station.

He’d left feeling awfully bitter about having to be at the station, about living more that a few blocks from her. Felt bitter about a few things, if he was honest.

Walking into his building, he saw the black and white dress shoes first and pulled up short.

“So you’re not dead. Thank God.”

Joe stopped with his keys in his hand, smirking. “Ned.”

“Mornin’ Gunny.” Ned slipped a cigarette between his lips and lit it. “Thought you stood me up last night… But it looks like you never came home. Work or play?”

“Stood you up?” Joe’s stare darted to his mailbox. “You leave me a message again?”

“Maybe.”

“Not sending me another moonlighting gig, are you?”

Ned shook his head, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Just thought we should chat.”

He didn’t like the sound of that…

“Well I’m here now,” Joe said, heading for his stairs. “So, chat.”

“Not here,” Ned told him quietly. “Tonight?”

Joe turned, watching Ned carefully. “Everything alright?”

“They’ve been better,” he admitted. “Bunny’s?”

Joe nodded. “Eight tonight?”

“See you then, Joe.”

Before he could say goodbye, Ned was out the door and around the corner.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from jazz and swing songs on this fic's playlist :)


	10. Why Don't You Do Right

Sitting in his usual spot at the bar, Joe sipped his bourbon quietly. It was only seven forty-five, and he didn’t expect Ned to be early.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

He glanced up from the pack of cigarettes he was about to open. “Anya,” he greeted with a slight grin.

“You get into it with somebody, Joe?” She leaned closer across the bar. “That looks like it hurt.” Gentle finger tips brushed his chin and he took a second to remember.

“Oh, that…” Pulling a cigarette from the pack, he reached into his pocket for his lighter. “Would you believe me if I said I fell?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Nope.”

 _Tell people I punched you, they’ll get a kick out of it,_ Evelyn’s voice rang in his head.

“Evelyn decked me.”

Anya grinned. “Girl’s got good aim.”

Joe made a mental note to tell Evelyn she was right.

“Aw yeah, sent me flyin’,” he said, lighting his cigarette.

“You’re not here to kiss ‘n’ make up, are you?” Anya asked, still leaning on the bar. “She’s on loan to The Clover for a couple weeks.”

“I know, she told me.”

“She did, huh…” Her stare narrowed, but she wasn’t suspicious. More curious than anything. “Was that before or after she gave you a jab?”

Chuckling, Joe sipped his drink. “Before. This was over something else.”

“She better be careful knockin’ around a face like yours. Make a lotta women upset… We like our daydreams without bruises.”

He ducked his head, feeling his ears going red. Few women could fluster him into silence, but Anya was one of them.

“Hey doll,” Ned’s voice called behind him. “My usual?”

Anya smiled at Ned before tapping the bar in front of Joe. “Another?”

He nodded, and Ned said, “On me,” before tossing down a large bill.

“Now I know it can’t be good.” Joe turned on his barstool, looking up. “Lemme guess, Mickey Cohen is digging himself into a hole.”

Jerking his head to the side, he strode over to a nearby table and Joe followed. Anya brought their drinks and winked at Joe before walking away.

“She likes you,” Ned commented, slipping a cigarette between his lips.

“She likes making me nervous.”

Arching an eyebrow, Ned said, “You get nervous, Joe?”

“Sometimes,” he chuckled.

“Yeah? Join the club.”

The jovial tone was gone from Ned’s voice, and Joe leaned forward. “What’s going on, kid?”

“This Mickey and Dragda feud is getting bloody,” Ned told him, gulping his scotch. “I’ve done my best to keep Mickey level, but… Can’t find reason in a bright room with a flashlight.”

“It’s bad on our end too,” Joe admitted, staring down into his drink. “Another CI got whacked the night we were supposed to meet with him.”

“Heard something about that…” Ned’s lips twitched, not quite a smirk. He had more tact than that.

“I know you don’t care if some snitch get’s bumped, but it doesn’t help if I’m the one they’re looking at for doing the job.”

“Again?” Ned shook his head. “That is awkward.”

“Wait, why are you comin’ to me about Mickey and Dragda?”

Ned exhaled a large cloud of smoke. “Mickey’s got a wild idea in his head… Thinks the cops have somehow managed to sneak a few plants into his operations. Cops playing robbers.”

Joe’s fingers paused their rhythm on his glass as he stared at Ned. Mickey thought the police had undercover officers in his joints.

This wasn’t good.

“What makes him think that?”

“Certain information is going missing, and there’s been an interesting uptick in police raids. Nothing that could get him sent away, but definitely a headache. For all of us.”

Joe sipped his bourbon. “I heard Dragda had been pushing against Mickey pretty hard. Hits being made on five of Mickey’s places. A few of his guys getting clipped.”

Ned nodded. “It hasn’t been the most joyful month, that’s for sure.” Glancing around, Ned leaned closer. “Look, I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know. But if your guys are weaseling in, trying to pull the wool over Mickey’s eyes, you gotta yank their leashes before someone gets hurt.”

“Since when do you care if cops catch a bullet?”

“Since I served with one,” Ned told him sincerely. “No one needs to get hurt over what boils down to a couple of angry men with power trying to prove who has more.”

Joe smirked as he finished his drink. “You sound tired of the life, Ned. Thinking of moving on?”

“Oh yeah, I plan on becoming the best damn traffic court attorney in LA.” He tsked, lifting his glass. “You know me better than that.”

“Sure do.”

Joe was about to ask him something when out of the corner of his eye he spotted a familiar head of black hair and burgundy coat.

“Uh…” He started to get up. “Would you hold on a second?”

“Gunny?”

“I’ll be right back, hold on.”

Evelyn was standing by the bar, looking around like she was searching for someone. When her gaze fell on him, her eyes lit up and he remembered they were supposed to meet here.

“Hey, there you are,” she said, smiling. “You bring a quarter?”

“Huh?”

“To flip? For whose place we go to…?”

“Oh, right, uh…” Leaning closer, he whispered, “I need you to do it again.”

“Do what again?” She whispered back.

“Pretend.”

Understanding spread across her face and she nodded. “Sure, Joe. We’ve been having a wonderful time, haven’t we?” She stepped forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek before hooking her arm with his. “Who is it?”

“Guy at the table. This way.”

“Lights… Camera…”

“Action,” he finished, leading her through the club to where Ned still sat. “Ned, this is Miss Evelyn Conway.”

Ned quickly put out his cigarette and stood up, taking her hand gently. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Conway.”

Evelyn tilted her head. “I think I’ve seen you before… You were in Joe’s building.”

Ned smiled. “Ah, yes. Just leaving my old war buddy a note.”

Joe snagged another chair, sliding it next to his. Evelyn started unbuttoning her coat and Joe helped her out of it. It was the details that sold the story.

“Oh, you served with Joe,” she exclaimed, voice higher than usual.

Joe struggled not to smirk.

“Yes, ma’am.” Ned nodded. “Wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for Gunny.”

Evelyn turned to look at him. “Gunny?” She repeated, clearly entertained by the name.

Waving Anya down for a drink for Evelyn, Joe smiled. “Don’t go getting any ideas.”

“Too late, I’ve already got a thousand,” Evelyn quipped back. “It’s nice to meet a friend of Joe’s. One who doesn’t also wear a badge.”

“Met a few of his colleagues, I see.”

“Quite a few,” she said. Anya appeared with a glass of bourbon and Evelyn thanked her.

“How was your shift?” Anya asked.

“Not bad. But certainly not permanent.”

“Should hope not. What would we do without you?”

Before Evelyn could answer, Anya got called away, and Ned arched an eyebrow.

“You work here?”

Sipping her drink, Evelyn nodded. “For a few weeks now. It’s how I met Joe.”

He tried to look at ease when she let her hand fall over top of his, thumb brushing his knuckles.

Playing a part. They were both playing a part.

Ned seemed pleasantly shocked. “Damn Gunny, I had no idea.”

“It was, uh… Unexpected,” Joe told him.

“And relatively new,” Evelyn added. “But he’s a good cook, so I’m happy.”

“One of us has to be,” Joe teased over the rim of his glass.

“I told you not to make any jokes—”

“The only thing you didn’t have a problem with was the coffee.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t dose it.”

“Shoulda. Then I wouldn’t have had to taste the eggs.”

Rolling her eyes, she muttered, “The man doesn’t burn toast and thinks he’s a resort chef.”

Ned was clearly entertained, grinning and looking back and forth between them.

“Let me guess,” Ned started, glancing at Evelyn. “You gave him that bruised chin.”

She laughed, looking over to Joe. “That’s the story, anyway.”

He’d forgotten what it was like to do this—To share little moments in front of friends. To be touched gently, casually, as if she’d been doing it for years.

She was good… She was even getting him to believe it.

Finishing his drink, Ned pulled out a folded stack of bills and left a few on the table.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay longer,” he said. “I’d love to hear more about you giving Gunny the one-two.”

Evelyn chuckled. “It sounds more dramatic than it was.”

“Maybe we can do this again sometime,” Ned offered, looking to Joe. “Be good to see you out.”

Joe nodded. “Sure, kid.”

“Always hated you calling me kid,” he said with a smirk. “Only a year younger than you.”

“Still makes you younger though.”

Waving Joe off, Ned turned to Evelyn. “It was a pleasure,” he said, taking her hand. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” Staring at Joe, he added, “We’ll talk more later.”

She waited until Ned was out almost out of the club before leaning over.

“You’re getting better.”

“At what?”

“Not looking like you swallowed a bug when we have to _pretend_.”

He scowled. “I do not look like that.”

“Yes you do.” Casting a glance over her shoulder, she said, “So he works for the mob, huh?”

Joe nearly choked on his bourbon.

“How the hell did you figure that out?”

She folded her arms on the table, barely sighing. “Oh please. Nobodies don’t carry that much cash with them at one time. Is he one of Dragda’s?”

When Joe didn’t respond, her eyebrows shot up.

“He works for Mickey Cohen?”

“Shh…” He leaned forward. “He lawyers for Mickey. Worked for Seigel before he died.”

“Your old war buddy lawyers for the mob and you’re a cop,” she said, reaching for her drink. “That’s an uncomfortable situation to be in.”

Joe’s stare drifted, lips pressing together into a line. “You’re telling me.”

“What did he want to talk about?”

“You’re gonna have to be more careful at the Clover.”

Her dark brows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

“Mickey Cohen has started to suspect cops have put undercover officers in his rackets,” Joe whispered. “He knows something’s off.”

Worry turned her petal pink lips into a slash across her face. “Okay,” she said with a slight nod. “I’ll cover my tracks better. I’ll only take my own notes, no more swiping anything he has. And—”

“Evelyn, maybe you outta… pull the plug.”

She frowned sternly. “No way. We’re close to finding something that connects him and the mole, I’m not walking away yet.”

“What does Mickey’s rackets have to do with the mole in my department?”

Her eyes sparked and even though he was getting heartburn from the worry, he was drawn to that determined look. Damn, she lit up when she was onto something.

“I was thinking today at the club,” she said, scooting her chair closer. “You ever play those word games as a kid? Like Telephone or a secrets game?”

“Yeah…”

“What if we do something similar with Mickey Cohen? We write up a list of all the people who might be in his pocket, and then we come up with a story. We change one detail about the story for each person we tell, and keep track of who knows what, and if that detail reached Mickey…”

“Then we know who the mole is,” Joe finished, catching onto her scheme. He stared at her, smile starting to curve his lips. “That’s genius.”

“Thank you,” she said, beaming. “I was pretty proud of it myself.”

“We’re gonna need help though,” he said. “No way we can pull this off with just the two of us.”

Downing her drink, she said, “Got any pals you know don’t take bribes?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah, actually. I think I’ve got a couple.”

“Well look at you, Joe. You’re gaining friends left and right.”

Grinning, he fished a quarter out of his pocket. “Call it.”

“Heads…”

***

Evelyn dropped her small bag on Joe’s floor by the bed.

“I still say we should’ve gone best two out of three.”

Grinning to himself, Joe took off his hat and jacket, hanging them up. “Don’t be bitter.”

“I’m not bitter,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I’m just aware of statistical probability.”

“Trying to game the system?”

She smiled. “Maybe.”

Evelyn watched him remove his holster, ignoring the tug low in her belly. She’d never thought twice about a couple leather straps and a few buckles until Joe Teague was ever-presently wearing them.

She felt betrayed by her own mind.

“Want something else to drink?” He asked, walking over to the small kitchen.

“Bourbon.” She blinked, realizing she wasn’t supposed to know he had any. “If you have it…” She recovered quickly.

“I do.”

“Lucky me.”

After a moment a glass with a finger of liquor appeared at her elbow.

“Thanks,” she said, glancing up at him as she took it.

“So…” Joe sipped his drink. “What kind of story are we supposed to feed the department that’ll get to Mickey?”

“It would have to be simple enough that we can change one detail and it won’t get lost,” she mused, wandering around his living room in thought. “But nothing too small-time, otherwise Mickey won’t act.”

Joe stared out his window in thought. “The shipping schedule,” he murmured. “We drop a lead in the department, tell people there’s a big illegal shipment of guns coming in…” Setting his glass down, he went over to his gun safe and unlocked it. “Shipping containers have numbers, right? We change the number we tell each person, and when the day comes we have eyes on each one and see who shows.”

Delight spread across her face. “That’s perfect.”

Taking the shipping schedule out, he looked up at her and smiled. “Now we just pick which numbers and write out our list.”

“Smoke out the mole from the inside.”

“ _Then_ we can go to Parker with what you know.”

She tilted her head. “If Parker’s not dirty.”

Joe’s brow arched, and it was more attractive than Evelyn would have liked.

“Bill the Boy Scout?”

“Everyone’s got a price, Joe. Even Boy Scouts.”

He was strangely quiet, standing still and staring down at the shipping schedule in his hands. He looked like he was debating something with himself, and she wanted to ease his mind, but was afraid an interruption would stop any revelations entirely.

“Sometimes… A person’s price isn’t money,” he whispered roughly.

Evelyn nodded, wanting him to continue. “I agree with that.”

“Doesn’t make it right…” He swallowed. “But, maybe…”

“It makes it understandable.” She waited for him to look up before saying, “People are capable of a lot of things. Doesn’t make them bad, just… complex.”

Holding her gaze, he tried to smile. “You sound like you have experience with that sorta thing.”

“Bad choices made for noble reasons?” She laughed softly. “Maybe a little bit of experience.”

Quiet stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. More settled, knowing… They both had heavy consciences and understood the toll it took.

Finishing her drink, she set her glass down. “So this list… Who’s your top pick?”

“For a mole?” He stepped over to the desk to gather up a pen and paper. “My guess would be Hendry.”

“Is that just ‘cause he thinks _you’re_ the mole?” She smirked at him.

“I’m not holding a grudge—”

“Yes you are.”

“Fine, but he’s also not exactly the easiest to get along with. He’s a bit of a steam roller, but a lot of the guys in the squad like him.”

“Okay. Who else?”

They sat next to each other on the sofa, writing out names in neat little columns—Well, Joe wrote it out. She had to admit his handwriting was better.

“There’s Dolan, Hal… But I don’t think Hal would—”

She tsked. “Everyone’s a suspect until we can prove otherwise.”

Joe groaned. “Alright, alright. Hal, Nick, Boy Scout…”

“What about anyone else who works with your department? Lab boys or secretaries?”

He shook his head. “None that work closely with us…” He paused, tapping his pen on the notepad. “Except one of the chiefs, uh… Smith I think. He’s always with Parker.”

“You know him?”

“Not well. But Bill thinks highly of him, so does Hal and the Mayor.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “Sounds like he’s pretty well insulated. That could be a problem… Or he’s the biggest fish to reel in.”

“Or both.” Joe glanced over at her. “The only ones I can rule out are Eddie and Tug.”

“And you’re _sure_ about Tug?”

He flashed a lopsided smile. “Yeah, he runs the Internal Affairs unit. He’s quiet, he loves his wife and kids, he’s meek, ya know? He still shakes at the thought of picking up his gun again.”

“Poor Tug,” she murmured. “But you’re right, he doesn’t sound like a gangster in the making.”

“Eddie’s clean too. He’s helped me out of more jams than I can count. I think if he was in the mob’s pocket he’d have left me to the wolves.”

Evelyn frowned, uncertain about what that meant. “Were you in trouble with Cohen before?”

Joe’s jaw tightened. “Not Mickey,” he said finally. “Seigel.”

“Geez,” she said, shifting on the couch. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up in a landfill somewhere.”

His gaze dropped to the floor and he nodded. “Yeah… I am.”

Something was off, she felt it. Just like she knew when people weren’t good news, she could tell when a story ran deeper than anyone would expect. Joe’s secrets ran deeper than most, and she felt the beginnings of the itch to know, to find out, to dig up the bones he’d buried.

Maybe she’d try the normal approach first…

“What happened, Joe? With Seigel?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. It… It’s over.”

“Yeah, it’s over, but if it involved Bugsy that could mean Mickey Cohen has taken it on as his own burden now. You could still be in trouble—”

“I’m not. And neither is anyone else.” His stare was haunted again as he looked up at her. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

She thought about leaving it alone, but her claws were inching in deeper. Letting go was hard.

“You realize you’re telling an _investigative journalist_ to drop it, right?”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. “I know, I just… I can’t have anyone else involved.”

“I think that ship sailed about four days ago.”

“Evelyn,” he said her name like a warning. “I’m asking you. Don’t dig.”

Her teeth worried the inside of her lip until it stung. “Alright.”

Joe’s shoulders eased down a fraction and he nodded quickly. “Thank you.”

Standing, she smoothed her dress as she said, “It’s late. I think I’m going to get ready for bed…”

Joe mumbled something under his breath that sounded like an agreement, and she gathered her things to take with her to the bathroom.

Her claws were still in deep though, and as she drifted off to sleep, she struggled to let this be the one lead she let go.

She wasn’t sure she’d succeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from jazz and swing songs on this fic's playlist :)


	11. I've Got You Under My Skin

The next morning Joe caught up to Eddie on his way to get coffee.

“Morning Joe,” Eddie greeted with a nod. “You don’t look so good… You getting sick?”

Joe shook his head, keeping pace next to Eddie. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I think that goes for a lot of us.”

Eddie poured himself and Joe a cup of coffee and topped his off with cream.

“Actually, you got a second?” Joe asked. “I need to talk to you.”

Looking down at his coffee, Eddie’s brow furrowed. “Can we take these with us? I’m desperate.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” Joe took his with a thank you and nodded for Eddie to follow him into his office. Once there, he closed the door behind them and Eddie sat down.

“This feels very serious, Joe.”

“It kinda is…” Taking a sip from his mug, Joe continued. “I have an idea how we can smoke out the mole in the department. But I can’t do it alone.”

Eddie leaned forward as Joe explained the plan he and Evelyn had come up with, leaving her name out of it just in case anyone became too suspicious. When he was done, Eddie’s eyes were wide, and intrigue pulled at his features.

“Have you taken this to Hal yet?”

Joe shook his head. “See, that’s where this gets tricky…”

“You can’t think Hal is dirty.”

“I don’t _want_ to believe it… But until we know for certain, everyone is a suspect.”

Eddie looked up at him from his coffee. “And you trust me with this? I’m not on your list?”

Joe regarded him for a moment. “I figure if you were working with the mob, you’d have handed my ass over a long time ago. And wouldn’t have taken the time to help dig me out of that mess with Jasmine and Seigel.”

There was a beat of silence as Eddie leaned back in his chair and inhaled deeply.

“You’re not a corrupt cop, Joe,” he said sincerely. “You hold your loyalties very seriously. When it came to choosing between your ex-wife who you loved very dearly, and a shmuck comedian with a target on his back… Well, I honestly can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.”

Joe blinked, a little stunned. “Really.”

“I told you, Joe. I have a tender heart.”

The fact that Eddie repeated the line with the same deadpan voice he used so often almost made it comical.

“When’d you figure out I bumped Hecky?”

“Oh, about eight months ago, when I listened to Jasmine on that tape talking about making duplicate pictures.”

Joe struggled not to drop his coffee.

“Listen,” Eddie said, leaning his forearm on the edge of Joe’s desk. “As long as you’re not planning on aiming that pistol at my back any time soon, you’re not gonna get any grief from me. I still think we should’ve taken the pictures to Hal, but… Guess the point’s moot now that Ben Seigel is worm food.”

Nodding, Joe swallowed. “Thanks Eddie.”

“No problem, Joe.” Eddie smirked over his mug—the closest thing he ever came to a full smile. “So how are we gonna pull the wool over Hal’s eyes about this?”

“I was thinking we start with him. Once we clear him, we bring him into the fold.”

“It’s a good plan,” Eddie commented, finishing his coffee. “But how do we keep him from bringing in a whole extra squad to bust Dragda?”

“Maybe tell him it’s just a rumor? Suggest we keep a low profile, but send a couple guys to watch the shipyard?”

Eddie looked up at him. “Lemme guess, we’re going to happily volunteer.”

Joe cocked his head, a lopsided grin forming. “Well…”

Sighing, Eddie stood up. “Guess I better get more coffee then. And tell my wife I won’t be home for dinner.”

***

By midnight, they called it. Hal wasn’t their leak.

The shipyard had been quiet, save for the couple looking for a place to neck…

Eddie and Joe spent that twenty-minute stretch in awkward silence, staring down at the dash of Eddie’s car until the lovebirds left.

“Gotta love a good stakeout,” Eddie muttered, dropping Joe off at his car. They were both dead tired already, staying out all night staring at a shipping container wasn’t helping matters.

“At least we know it’s not Hal,” Joe offered. “That’s gonna make things easier.”

“And less disappointing.”

Joe nodded and told Eddie goodnight, shutting the car door.

It felt like the longest drive back to his apartment, but finally Joe was trudging up his stairs and unlocking his door.

Evelyn was sprawled out on his sofa, a book left open on her chest from where she’d fallen asleep reading. Black waves of hair fanning out over a pillow, her right arm tucked behind her head, she reminded him of one of those paintings he’d seen in a museum once. All soft skin and curves illuminated by his dim lamp, she was like a queen or a goddess made immortal on canvas.

Shutting the door quietly and locking it, he shed his hat, jacket, and holster before stepping closer.

“Evelyn?” He whispered.

She stirred but only barely, a short little humming noise escaping her.

Joe didn’t have the heart to wake her. Not when she looked so peaceful.

Gently taking the book from where it lay, he closed it and set it on the end table. When that didn’t rouse her from sleep, he figured she was gone to the world, and went to scoop her up. Sliding an arm under her shoulders, and another under the backs of her knees, he hoisted her up, holding her close to his chest to keep her steady.

“Mmm?” Her voice was muffled from where her face had turned into his neck.

“Shh, it’s alright, it’s Joe.”

“You’re late…”

He chuckled, looking down at her. “I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Joe stopped, realizing what had come out of his mouth.

He hadn’t called anyone ‘sweetheart’ in years. Not since…

“’S okay,” Evelyn murmured, curling closer towards him. “Glad you’re home.”

He was fairly certain she wouldn’t remember any of this, probably wasn’t even fully awake. But even her half-aware mumblings made his chest ache with something he was too tired to label right then.

Walking her over to the bed, he laid her down gently, making sure her head was securely on the pillows. Tugging the blankets out from under her, he lifted her ankles and covered her up, tucking her in.

Her eyes were still closed as she murmured, “Stay, Joe...”

“I am staying, I’m in for the night.”

“With me.”

A lump formed at the back of his throat, overwhelmed by four simple words.

He was about to respond when she rolled onto her side towards him, pressing her face into his pillow and sighing. He just watched her a moment before lifting her hand and kissing her knuckles.

“G’night, Evelyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from jazz and swing songs on this fic's playlist :)


	12. I'm a Fool to Want You

“You WHAT?” Hal glared at Eddie and Joe in equal measure.

“It was the only way we could be sure,” Eddie said, looking to Joe. “If it helps, we wanted to clear you first because we didn’t want to believe it ourselves.”

Hal inhaled so deeply Joe was worried his lungs would pop. “You boys… What do you think this is, the wild west?”

“Startin’ to feel like it a bit,” Joe muttered.

“I should write you both up for conspiring against a superior detective.” Hal paused, sitting down at his desk. “But honestly, you were smart. And this was a good plan.”

Eddie glanced at Joe again, almost smiling.

“It wasn’t personal, Hal,” Joe hurried to say. “Everyone’s under suspicion.”

Hal nodded. “And this mole has been elusive. We’ve been trying to find him for months, but nothing has come up that would anyone to flip.”

“Which is why Joe’s bait and trap idea seemed like a good way to go,” Eddie said.

“And even if it isn’t one of us, it could be someone close to us,” Joe added, remembering Evelyn’s comment about lab guys or secretaries. “This is just a way to narrow down the search.”

“I just pray it works,” Hal said, running his hand over his face. “Alright, so who was next?”

“Well, that’s where it gets a little complicated,” Eddie started, sitting across from Hal.

Joe let Eddie do most of the explaining, detailing the full plan and what they’d need to do. Hal, while always keeping a level of decorum with Joe, had never really been the same with him since the safe house incident. There was always an air of disbelief of anything Joe had to say, always looking at him as if trying to figure out what double motive he might have. Not that Joe blamed him, but he knew he’d swallow this pill easier if it came from Eddie.

And with Eddie trusting Joe, Hal was much more inclined to as well.

“This is good, boys. Real good.” Hal nodded. “And this Dragna shipment is coming in in just a few days.”

“We spread the word that the shipment container number changed, we lead them right to us. We just have to be careful,” Joe said. “If people start talking amongst themselves, then our story could get blown.”

“What if we make it sound like we’re pulling in each guy into out plot?” Eddie asked, looking between them. “We tell each guy that we’re fishing for a snitch, that the container has actually changed but they can’t tell anyone because we’re setting up a bust at the other one.”

“Double cross the double crossers,” Hal murmured. “That could work.”

Joe refrained from saying what was on his mind. That this _needed_ to work, that the life of someone he cared for was on the line if they didn’t smoke out this mole.

Because if Mickey Cohen or any of his men found out there was a witness to that CI hit, Evelyn would never be able to stop running for her life. And Joe would never be able to live with himself if _another_ woman in his life was made to ghost out of town, never able to return…

***

Evelyn picked up Joe’s phone cautiously, unsure what the protocol was for answering someone else’s phone. “Joe Teague’s residence.”

“You always sound that formal on the phone?” Joe’s amusement was audible.

Smiling, she sat down at the little kitchen table, bringing the phone with her. “Only when it’s not my place.”

“You sounded like a secretary.”

“Savor it, it’s the last time I answer your phone nicely again.”

He chuckled and even through the phone it made her warm.

“So, you slipped in last night, then you were gone before I was up. Better be careful or people will start to think you’re a ghost.”

“I tried to wake you this morning, but you weren’t having it.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You threatened to bite me.”

She was affronted by the accusation. “I did not!”

“You did,” he told her. “You also cursed at me and then covered your head with the pillow.”

Evelyn bit her lip. “I… vaguely remember that. But I thought it was a dream.”

“I’m gonna start making you sleep with a mouth guard. Last thing I need is to lose a finger.”

“Guess it depends which finger…”

His startled laugh made her giggle. It was nice to laugh, to make _him_ laugh. She’d forgotten the fun in simple things like that.

“So what was the purpose of ringing me?” She asked, crossing her legs. “Or did you just want to make sure I wasn’t comatose?”

“Mostly that,” he teased. “But I also didn’t get a chance to tell you that Hal’s clean.”

She sighed heartily. “Thank God.”

“Yeah, we told him about our idea. He thinks it’s a good plan, gonna help us find the mole.”

“That’s great, Joe.” She could hear him shifting the receiver, and some commotion in the background. “Busy at the station?”

“Just a lot of thugs getting busted—a lot of Mickey’s and Dragna’s guys.”

Evelyn frowned, unsure of how to say her next piece.

“That… uh, reminds me…”

There was a pause on Joe’s end. “Did something happen?”

“Uh… Kinda?” She glanced up at the ceiling. “I… met Mickey Cohen.”

Dead silence almost made her ears ring.

“Joe?”

“Say that again.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I was keeping myself low profile—”

“Not low enough, apparently.”

“I got put on picture duty last night,” she countered. “And Mickey was getting his picture taken _a lot_. We had a few celebrities in, but even with regular guests. He was having pictures snapped left and right, and well… He looked up, I guess he realized he didn’t know who I was and…”

“He met you. Officially.”

She swallowed. “Yeah.”

There was another pause as she listened to him moving. “I bet I know why he was getting his picture taken so much.”

“Why?”

“A couple of Dragna’s guys were found shot to death in their truck last night. Mickey was using the club as an alibi.”

Evelyn groaned, head falling into her hand. “Shit. And I helped him.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“Still doesn’t make me excited to go into work tonight.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“Joe—”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I know you’ve gotta go to the club. Just… Maybe stay at my place until you have to leave? If last night is any indication, neither Mickey nor Dragna are slowing down. They’ve probably got men everywhere. I just… I don’t want you getting caught in something.”

“You mean _another_ something?” She asked, smiling.

“Told you, I pegged you as trouble the second I saw you. Would hate for you to prove me right.”

She heard the warmth in his voice, even as he was chiding her. It softened her retort back.

“I think we’ve proved that already, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he chuckled. “Just… stay until your shift tonight, okay?”

She nodded even though he couldn’t see. “Alright, Joe. I promise.”

Another man’s voice called in the background, “Hey Joe, Hal needs us.”

“Be right there,” Joe said before speaking into the receiver again. “I gotta go. Meet me at Bunny’s tonight?”

“Don’t get drunk without me,” she teased.

“’Course not. Bye Evelyn.”

The phone clicked as he hung up and she paused, letting the phone drop to her collar bone before hanging up. She might be able to hide it, but she couldn’t deny it to herself anymore.

Evelyn Conway was falling for Joe Teague.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from jazz and swing songs on this fic's playlist :)


	13. Zoot Suit Riot

She was changing out the bulb on the camera when someone called Evelyn’s name behind her. Turning, she saw one of the other hostesses.

“Mr. Cohen’s looking for you,” she said, hurrying by. “It seemed urgent.”

Evelyn’s heart leapt into her throat. “Oh, okay.”

Numbly, she set the camera down and straightened her dress out before heading towards the back.

She was fine. He probably just wanted to talk about something pertaining to the club, or maybe he was wondering about Marie’s return.

She’d been in worse jams before. As long as she kept her cool, she’d be in and out in no time.

Knocking on the office door, she announced herself. “Mr. Cohen? It’s Miss Conway.”

Hearing a man call out, “Come in,” she opened the door and her knees locked. It wasn’t just Mickey in the room, but several other men were there too… Goons more like it. And one she recognized from the board at the police station.

Sid Rothman. Seigel and Mickey’s right hand. The one who did most of the blood spilling.

“Hey there, doll,” Mickey said, nodding to her. “Come on in, would you? Shut the door.”

Taking a steadying breath, Evelyn turned and closed the office door before facing him again.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Cohen?”

He smiled at her formality and she was pleased it seemed to win her some favor.

“Please, call me Mickey.” He adjusted his silk tie, sitting up in his chair. “Sorry to pull you off the floor like this…”

She glanced around at the other men briefly, clocking their positions in the room. No one was behind her, which was a good sign. Predators only circled when they were going for the kill.

“I know you’ve only been here a week, but you’ve been doing good out there,” Mickey said. “And it was awfully nice of you to cover for Marie like that.”

Evelyn ducked her head, pretending to be shy. “Oh, well, it wasn’t a problem. With her taking care of her sick mother, I knew the stress she was under. I was happy to help.”

“Still, that’s very good of you. Honorable.” Mickey folded his hands on the desk, watching her. “I think you’re an honorable person, Miss Conway…”

She kept her face neutral, despite her throat going painful dry.

Mickey continued. “So, I wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything suspicious going on at the club.”

Evelyn blinked. “Suspicious?”

“Yeah, anyone doing anything you’d think was… odd. Maybe going places they shouldn’t, or hanging around where they wouldn’t normally be, stuff like that.”

She wanted to laugh. Mickey Cohen was asking her, the real person snooping around The Clover, if she’d seen anyone _else_ doing it.

Well, if he thought she was the upstanding type, she’d better play along…

“Um…” She fidgeted with her fingers, looking down. “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, since I’m not a full-time employee… I didn’t want to make trouble—”

Sid Rothman took a step forward. “What? What did you see?”

“I think I saw one of your bus boys… swiping some of the silverware at the end of the night.” She looked to Mickey. “I couldn’t be certain though… It was late, and I thought maybe I was just tired and seeing things…”

Sid’s over excitement deflated immediately. He stepped back, rolling his eyes at Mickey before reaching for the crystal decanter to freshen up his drink.

“I’m sorry, I know I should have said something sooner,” Evelyn admitted with perfectly crafted remorse. “I just—”

“No, no, that’s alright, doll,” Mickey said, waving his hand. “Like you said, it was late. And you’re new. No need to go stirring up trouble, right?”

He smiled at her and she returned it, hoping it was endearing.

By the way his posture shifted, it worked. Mickey not only believed her, he was feeling sympathy for her.

_Got him._

“Right, Mr. Cohen.”

“Ah, what’d I say?”

She giggled—too high and throaty for it to be real, but they didn’t know that.

“Sorry, _Mickey_ ,” she corrected.

Mickey grinned. “Good girl.”

Internally, Evelyn bristled at the phrase. But there were worse things to be called, she supposed.

She was about to ask if there was anything else she could do for him, when the door behind her opened.

“Sorry I’m late,” a familiar voice said, and she glanced over. The man had his back to her as he poured himself a drink, but she recognized the slicked back hair.

Dread filled her chest like concrete.

_Ned…_

“It’s alright, Stax,” Mickey said, completely oblivious to Evelyn’s widened eyes. “We were just finishing up.”

She thought maybe she could excuse herself before Ned finished pouring his drink, but she was too late. She opened her mouth right as he turned.

“Stax, this is Miss Conway,” Mickey said. “She’s been filling in for one of our other girls.”

In that millisecond, Evelyn waited for her lies to crash down. For Ned to greet her as a friend would, to immediately start with the ‘it’s good to see you again’ phrase that would lead to more questions that would eventually lead to her being buried under a ton of concrete in Las Vegas.

Ned blinked, clearly a little caught off guard, but not anything obvious to anyone not paying attention.

“Miss Conway,” he greeted, smiling. He extended his hand, which she took, and squeezed it a little tighter than normal. A signal. “A pleasure to meet you,” he continued, holding her stare.

Evelyn exhaled quietly. Ned wasn’t going to blow her cover, wasn’t going to even act like he knew her.

Ned was a loyal man too apparently.

“You as well,” she murmured.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Conway,” Mickey said, standing up from behind his desk. “I appreciate your honesty.”

Eyes darting to Ned, she nodded. “Of course.”

Turning, she hurried out of the office and closed the door behind her. Her pulse was thundering in her ears. She felt like she’d just dodged a train.

Staying quiet, she tilted her head to listen at the door jam.

All she could hear was Sid grumbling about finding the sneak in the club, and Mickey commenting on how she’d looked in her spangly dress.

Not wanting to risk getting caught, she made tracks away from the office and back to the hostess stand.

_Joe is not gonna like this…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from swing and jazz songs from this fic's playlist :)


	14. Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have guessed from the title, this slow burn reaches NSFW territory in this chapter. Enjoy ;)

Bunny’s was crowded by the time she got there, and weaving through the mass of people was a little more difficult than she’d anticipated. The band was loud and in full swing and people were swirling and dancing wherever they felt like it.

Pushing her way passed one group, she searched the bar for Joe but couldn’t find him. All the tables were taken, but there were a few stools left at the very end, so she sat down, deciding to wait for him.

Anya appeared, smiling at her from across the bar. “Hey there stranger,” she greeted. “Miss us yet?”

Evelyn nodded. “Every day.” After ordering her usual, she glanced around. “Have you seen Joe?”

Anya shook her head. “He hasn’t been in yet. But if I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks.” Evelyn looked around again, searching for that familiar hat and broad shoulders, but couldn’t find him anywhere. When her drink came she decided to just enjoy the company of herself until Joe got there.

“Excuse me, this seat taken?”

“Actually, I’m waiting for—” She turned to finish her sentence and stopped. Detective Pat Dolan was grinning down at her. “Oh!”

“This is a surprise, huh?”

“It sure is,” she agreed, baffled. “I, uh, I didn’t know you drank here.”

“When I get the time,” he said. “Do you mind if I--?” He gestured to the bar stool next to her.

“Oh, sure,” she said, nodding. She didn’t see the harm, especially since Joe was supposed to be there soon anyway. She couldn’t begrudge the company.

Dolan sat down, ordering a beer. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“I thought maybe I’d let the rumors die down before showing up at the station again,” she said, smirking over the rim of her glass.

“Ah, no, people weren’t talking…”

She arched an eyebrow at him and he broke, laughing.

“Alright, they talked a little.” He sipped his beer before glancing at her again. “But can you blame them? A beautiful woman showing up with Teague after midnight?”

“Are you insinuating he’s stooped to impropriety or that I’m too good for him?”

Dolan grinned. “Oh, you’re definitely too good for him.”

She laughed, and he continued.

“I mean, really you’re too good for anyone,” he said, his grin softening a little. “Especially a homicide detective.”

“Aren’t _you_ a homicide detective?”

“Yes, and you’re too good for me too.”

Evelyn laughed again. His heavy flattery was cute—like watching a schoolboy try his hand at romance.

“You only say that because you don’t know me,” she told him. “Once the mystery is gone, you’ll see I’m just as boring as everyone else.”

He leaned a fraction closer. “I doubt you could be boring, Miss Conway.”

Despite herself, she felt her cheeks warm. To deflect, she looked away towards the band and the groups of people dancing.

“You like swing?”

She nodded. “Very much so.”

“Would you like to dance?”

“Oh,” she looked back at him, uncertain. “I don’t think—”

“One dance?” He gave her the most comical puppy eyes. “I promise not to step on your toes.”

Evelyn bit her lip, glancing quickly at the door. Still no Joe…

“Well, I guess that’s better than just sitting here,” she admitted, standing up.

Dolan took her hand, leading her to an open spot on the floor and spinning her. He wasn’t half bad, she thought, as they moved. Granted, it had been forever since she’d danced with anyone, and she was more concerned about stepping on his toes after the fourth turn.

Spinning her out, Dolan pulled her back and she stumbled, making them both laugh. He caught her around the waist, keeping them moving as she got her legs back under her.

“Sorry about that,” she told him. “It’s been a while.”

“Still better than my last partner,” Dolan said, grinning. “That donkey did not know how to tango.”

Her surprised laugh exploded from her, high and bright over the noise of the club. He seemed to enjoy that, chuckling along with her.

When he spun her again, she caught sight of someone through the crowd and turned her head.

“Oh, Joe’s here,” she said, tapping Dolan on the arm. Pulling free of his hold, she hurried over to Joe. Her smile dropped at the sight of his expression though.

“Hey Teague,” Dolan greeted from behind her. “I hope you don’t mind, I couldn’t stand to just let her sit there waiting on you.”

Evelyn cast a look over her shoulder before saying, “Well, I didn’t mind waiting…”

Joe’s stoic expression didn’t falter. “Sure.”

Recognizing it was his time to leave, Dolan gathered up his coat and nodded to Evelyn. “Thanks for the dance, Miss Conway.”

“Sure, detective,” she said faintly, not watching as the man left. Her eyes lifted to Joe’s and he gestured for her to take her seat back. “So… How was everything at the station?”

Joe sat where Dolan had, facing forward. “Busy.”

She waited for him to elaborate and when he didn’t she tried again. “And what about everything with Hal and the—”

“I told you, it went fine.”

Gritting her teeth, she sneered, and shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

“What?”

“You,” she snapped before getting up. “I cannot believe you’re pulling the classic, jealous man routine.”

“Excuse me?” Joe turned, glaring as she started putting on her coat. “I am not jealous—”

“Yes you are, and you’re terrible at hiding it.” Fumbling with the buttons she gave up. “As if you could think for one second I’d rather be dancing with Dolan. Like I’ve just been waiting for the perfect opportunity to embarrass you, dump you on the curb—”

“Dump me?”

“—Well listen up Joe Teague, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve hitched my wagon to yours, and I’m not exactly the flighty type. So take your ego and sort it out elsewhere.”

With that she snatched up her purse and headed for the door. Getting out of the club was just as difficult as getting into it, and it took her a few tries before emerging onto the sidewalk. There were a few cabs at the corner, but her apartment was only a couple blocks away, so she decided to walk.

“Evelyn!”

Groaning, she let her head fall back. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

Turning on her heel, she faced him. He was still a few paces back and it took all her willpower not to cross the street and grab a cab after all.

“Where does it look like I’m going, Joe?” She spread her arms out. “My apartment.”

She started to walk away again but he caught up to her.

“Hey, wait, Evelyn—”

“You know, you’re a real jerk sometimes,” she snapped, whirling on him. “I haven’t judged you, and I know you’ve got your own issues, but _that_ in there was uncalled for. When have I ever given you the impression I’m interested in _Pat Dolan_?”

“I know, I—”

“I was there to meet you, Joe! I was waiting for _you_ , not him,” she interrupted. “And for you to get jealous and try to freeze me out—”

“I wasn’t—”

“Jesus Christ, yes you were.” She started walking again. “God, after everything, and then you go and pull a stunt like that, I’m—”

“Evelyn,” he called, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her to a stop. “Why are you yelling at me like we’re a couple, huh?”

 She froze. All the anger bubbling inside her washed away in light of his particular observation.

He was right. She was yelling at him as if they were together, when they weren’t. Not really. People believed them to be, but that was pretend… It was to keep themselves out of scrutiny. Out of danger.

But Joe wasn’t hers. And she wasn’t Joe’s.

“I…” She blinked, shaking her head. “You’re right, I…”

Somehow, he managed to step even closer to her. All she could smell was him—his soap and aftershave, mixed with a touch of bourbon he must’ve downed before coming after her.

“Tell me why, Evelyn.”

It felt like a trap.

Or maybe she was just that scared of admitting her truth.

“You’re right, I was being silly…” She said, looking down. “It’s just been a long day...”

She started to move away from him when he caught her, pulling her back.

Strong, calloused hands cupped her face moments before his lips crashed against hers. She gasped into his mouth, both from surprise and delight, and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. Overwhelmed with him, all she could do at first was hold on tight as he kissed her. But soon she got her bearings, and gripped the front of his jacket, yanking him closer. She sank her teeth into his bottom lip, just enough to make him shudder and moan against her, and she soothed it with her tongue. His arms wrapped around her, one hand at her low back while the other fisted her hair, turning her head where he could reach her better.

Evelyn backed up, shoulders colliding with the brick wall of the club. She couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose, but Joe’s thigh was between hers, pinning her in place and giving her something to move against.

His hands were back at her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks, fingers diving into her hair, trailing down the column of her throat… She could almost feel the echo of her pulse against his palm.

Pulling back to gulp for air, Joe stared down at her with lust darkened eyes.

“I was jealous,” he admitted. “Not because he was dancing with you. But because he made you laugh.”

Evelyn stared up at him, lips stinging from his absence. “But… You make me laugh.”

His thumbs were still on her cheeks and jaw as he said, “Not like he did.”

Snaking her hand under his jacket to place on his chest, she held his gaze, smiling. “I’m fighting not to tell you to work on your material.”

Joe rolled his eyes, groaning softly. Leaning up, she kissed him firmly, not pulling away until he’d completely melted into it.

“I like the way _you_ make me laugh,” she said, lips brushing his. Tipping her head, she grazed her nose over his, making him smile.

“Yeah?”

She nodded, gently bumping his forehead. “Yeah.”

Joe’s mouth was on hers again, stealing her breath with every movement. Then his thigh pressed against her and she knew he was doing it on purpose.

“Joe?”

His lips went to her throat, distracting her for a moment. “Mhm?”

Shoving at his chest just enough to get his attention, she grabbed his arm and started walking. “Let’s go.”

It was the longest two blocks of Evelyn’s life. Especially with Joe’s hands on her at every crosswalk, the buzz of arousal coursing through her, him sneaking a kiss at the back of her neck or shoulder every time they had to slow down.

They practically burst into her apartment like a canon. The door flung open, almost knocking her bookshelf over.

“Close it,” she urged. “Quick, before Mrs. Balsam hears.”

Joe kicked it closed, making her giggle. Before she could suggest anything else, Joe gripped her by the hips and spun them both until she was backed against the wall.

Helping him out of his jacket, she tossed it somewhere in her living room and he grinned.

“Eager,” he murmured, trailing kisses over her jaw and chin.

Evelyn removed her own coat, letting it fall to the floor at her feet. Joe started to take off his holster when she stopped him.

“Leave it,” she said, flushing when he arched an eyebrow at her. “I… It looks good.”

Kissing the dip beneath her bottom lip, he nodded. “Yes, Miss Conway.”

Her breath caught in a tiny hiccup she knew he heard. And from the curve of his mouth against her throat, he enjoyed it too.

His hands travelled down her waist, holding her tightly as he lowered his head, kissing the hollow of her throat, her collar bones, and further. Glancing down, just the sight of his head at her cleavage made her tremble.

She was about to tell him to take her to the bedroom when he sank to his knees in front of her, pressing kisses to her stomach through the fabric of her dress. Those same calloused hands skimmed up her calves, over her nylons, and up further to the backs of her bare thighs. Pushing the hem of her dress up, he ducked to kiss the tops of her knees, dragging his nose up her leg until he was touching skin.

The scrape of stubble along her inner thigh sent a shock through her, increasing her ache for him. Still leaning against the wall, her hips jutted out, silently urging him on, and Joe looked up at her. Grinning, he pushed her dress up further, holding it out of his way as he quickly unclipped the suspenders of her garter.

Kissing his way up, he gave her a few love bites, making her gasp and jerk.

“Oh, Joe…” She sighed, letting her hand fall to his hair.

His right hand went up further, toying at the fabric of her underwear, before moving back to grip her ass. She moaned when he pulled her closer to his face, scrambling at his shoulder for purchase until she caught his holster, holding on for dear life.

The man hadn’t even touched her yet and she was sparking like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.

Keeping her dress pushed up, his mouth covered her core over the satin she wore, and she yelped in surprise. He kissed and nosed at her, working her up even more until she was drenched. When he finally started dragging her underwear down her thighs, she almost sighed in relief. Easing them down past her knees until she could step out of them, he tossed them to the floor.

His hands were on either side of her thighs, stroking gently.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, and her pulse skyrocketed.

Evelyn’s shoe scuffed the floor as she moved, parting her thighs until she heard him groan.

Looking down, she caught the hunger in his eyes moments before he licked his lips and leaned in. The tip of his nose brushed through her soft black curls seconds before the plane of his tongue was against her, opening her up for him.

“Christ, Joe,” she gasped when he found her clit with the tip of his tongue. Moving against her, he flicked it again and she jolted.

Her grip was deathlike on his holster and he didn’t even seem to care. He was too enraptured by her, by having his mouth on her, sending her higher and higher until she was certain she’d faint.

He wasn’t just focusing on the end result, he was savoring her. Learning what stole her breath, made her shake, ripped curses from her throat and moan his name. She’d never had a man make love to her with his mouth before, but that’s what he was doing. She’d found bliss on Joe Teague’s tongue.

She was so close she couldn’t see straight. The hand still gripping his holster twisted, while her other clutched at his hair. He groaned against her, making her shudder.

“Fuck, fuck, Joe, I’m—”

Evelyn came suddenly, hips pressing up against him, gasping. He didn’t stop, working her through each wave until she was whimpering, and her legs were wobbly.

Joe tilted his face, dragging his tongue up the inside of her thigh, drinking every last drop of her.

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” he teased, nipping her gently.

She laughed, still a little breathless. “Funny, I was gonna to say the same thing about you.”

Kissing her knees once more, Joe stood up, grinning at her. Fisting the front of his shirt, she pulled him into a fierce kiss that had him catching himself on the wall behind her.

Before she could steady her breath, Joe was reaching down and hoisting her up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

A shocked laugh erupted out of her, and Joe stared up at her, smiling.

“I guess I can make you laugh like that,” he said, walking them towards her bedroom.

“Just gotta be carrying me off to bed,” she teased, arms winding around his neck.

Kissing her sternum, he said, “You see me complaining?”

In the dark, they stumbled a little, and Joe set her down on the mattress with a bounce.

“Hold on, where’s your…”

“Over there,” she said, gesturing even though he couldn’t see.

He bumped the nightstand, almost knocking it over, but finally clicked on the light.

“That’s better,” he said, returning to her. “Now can I take this off?” He asked, hooking his thumb in his holster.

Smirking, she leaned back. “I suppose. I have a feeling what’s underneath is even more thrilling.”

His lips twitched as he made quick work of his holster and gun, putting them away on a shelf. Loosening his tie, he yanked it off, and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Evelyn sat up, pushing his hands aside in favor of her own. “You shouldn’t get to have all the fun.”

Pulling the tail of his shirt free from his trousers, she finished unbuttoning it and shoved it down his broad shoulders. His white undershirt clung to him, leaving very little for her active imagination. But seeing his arms bare for the first time, she spotted his Marine Corp tattoo on his right shoulder. She traced it with her fingers, leaning up to kiss at any inch of exposed skin she could find—his chest, the curve of his arm, his neck. Sitting back, she helped him out of his undershirt, and her hands skimmed down his abdomen in appreciation.

When she kissed the ridge a couple inches above his navel, she felt his breath catch, and glanced up at him through her lashes.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, tucking a short lock of hair behind her ear.

Before she could respond he was leaning down to unzip her dress and ease it down her arms. She stood up to let it fall the rest of the way, and stepped into the pool of lamplight while Joe sat on the edge of the bed.

His hands were warm on her waist, pulling her closer. And then his gaze dropped to her stomach and hips. She looked down, remembering.

“Oh…” She said, hands moving like she was going to cover her scars. “They’re pox scars.” She bit the inside of her lip. “I had a bad case when I was a little girl. My mother stayed up with me night after night, wrapped my hands in linen so I wouldn’t scratch, but the doctor said sometimes they still scar no matter what you do.”

Her hand fell to the cluster of round marks at her hip. Most had faded over the years, but a few were just too deep. The ones at her hip were the worst, but a few curved up her stomach, to the side of her ribs. She even had a couple on her thighs, but Joe must have missed those in his earnest.

“I know they’re not the prettiest…” She started, looking towards her slip on the ground, thinking she could cover them if they were a turn off.

But Joe’s grip tightened, and he pulled her closer. “They’re a part of you,” he murmured. “And I already told you, you’re beautiful.” Maneuvering her until she was on the bed, laying back, he leaned down to kiss her before working his way down to kiss each and every scar on her body.

His breath was warm on her hip, over the dense cluster of marks, as he paid special attention there. Wide palms wrapped around her rib cage, holding her as he dragged his lips and chin over scar tissue.

Moments later he was unhooking her garter belt and stripping off her nylons and pumps. Evelyn helped him with her bra when he struggled, laughing as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Not my area of expertise,” he said, watching her undo it from the back.

“All men have to have a flaw or two.”

He was about to speak when she dropped her bra to the floor, leaving herself bare for him. Joe’s mouth fell open for a second as he drank her in.

“Shit, I knew you’d be perfect, but this…”

Evelyn blushed from her chest to the apples of her cheeks.

Joe didn’t waste much time, leaning over her to kiss each breast, dipping his tongue between them, before finally latching onto her left nipple, sucking until she was arching her back and gasping.

While his mouth worked, he trailed his hand down to the apex of her thighs, stroking gently before sinking in two fingers.

“Oh God, Joe,” she breathed, letting her head fall back.

Groaning against her, he circled his wrist and kept a steady pace, not enough to push her over the edge but just right to drive her crazy.

Grabbing a handful of his hair, she yanked until he released her with an obscene noise that sent shivers up her arms.

“I need you in me,” she nearly growled. “Now.”

The smugness of his grin could have permeated her apartment.

As she shifted on the bed, Joe made quick work of his belt, and shucking his trousers and boxers.

Moving over her, he pulled her arms up until they were over her head, kissing another trail down her throat.

“Keep ‘em there, yeah?” He said, lips moving against her ear.

She smirked. “Trying to control me, Joe?”

“I know better than to try that,” he said, hands on her hips, her thighs, easing her open for him. “I just like seeing all of you.”

Her blush intensified, but she didn’t have much of a chance to respond before she felt him nudging her entrance and a soft moan escaped her.

Inch by glorious inch he filled her, stretched her until her thighs shook and she was gasping. Joe leaned over her, chest brushing hers as he moved languidly inside her.

“Perfect,” he said into her neck. “You’re perfect.”

He thrust in measured strokes, keeping them both in check. Evelyn arched her back and raised her hips, trying to gain more friction but Joe shh’d her.

“’S not a sprint, sweetheart,” he told her, kissing her sternum. “Just trust me. I’ll get you there.”

Taking a deep breath, Evelyn let herself relax, melting into each touch, each kiss, each slide and pull within her. Hitching her leg up, Joe took her hint and gripped her thigh, lifting it around his waist. His next thrust made her cry out, and Joe smiled against her.

“There it is,” he murmured. “Told you.”

“Gloating isn’t attractive,” she panted, but she knew her expression wasn’t exactly stern. And Joe just dragged his teeth over her collar bone, nipping at the same time he pushed inside, making her moan.

He read her like a book. Every sigh, each flutter of her eyelashes or parting of her lips, the color tinting her cheeks, how she turned her face into her arm, cursing under her breath when he really hit the mark… He knew what to do for all of it. How to give her just enough to build her up but level off before she was too far gone.

If she didn’t know better, she’d think he didn’t want it to end.

But she could read him too. The sweat beading on his back and forehead, the way his arms shook, how hard he gripped her thigh, her hip. He was quickly becoming a desperate man.

As he entered her again, she clenched around him just to watch his mouth fall open and eyes drift blissfully shut.

“Evelyn,” he moaned, forehead bumping hers.

She smiled up at him. “Two can play this game, Joe.”

Cursing under his breath, he leaned back to gain some leverage with her headboard before picking up his pace.

The change of the angle was perfect for her, and she was quickly barreling towards the edge.

“Joe… Shit, Joe,” she cried, tossing her head back. She was so close…

With his free hand, he reached between them, tapping his thumb against her clit rapidly until she was arching her back and choking on a scream.

He lasted two seconds longer, falling right along with her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck and groaning.

Collapsing, he caught himself on his elbow, keeping his weight off her.

He swallowed drily. “That was…”

“One helluva marathon,” Evelyn finished, reaching down to stroke his hair.

His chuckle was muffled by her shoulder, and she smiled against the top of his head. After a moment, Joe rolled onto his side, keeping her leg draped over him. Facing him, Evelyn titled her head to gently bump her nose against his.

A million thoughts ran through her head as she gazed at him. Snippets of romantic notions she’d long since given up on ever having, ever feeling. And as his hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb toying with the corner of her smile, she knew.

Without even realizing it, Joe Teague had made her fall in love with him.

Kissing him softly, she asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” he said. “But…”

“Fine,” she sighed, tossing her hand up. “I’ll let you cook this time.”

Joe grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. “I’ll make it extra special this time, sweetheart.”

“You better.”


	15. My Funny Valentine

Evelyn was roused from sleep by the sound of a buzz saw.

Squinting in the dim morning light, she tried to turn but something was pinning her to the mattress.

Not something. Some _one_.

Joe’s thick arm was draped over her, nearly circling her waist completely with his chest at her back.

 _Who in the world is using tools this early?_ She thought, glaring around the room from her stationary position.

It took her another few seconds to realize it wasn’t a buzz saw at all… It was Joe.

Gently hoisting his arm up so she could roll to her other side, she faced him and tucked his arm back around her. She could only see his profile, as the rest of his face was shoved into the crevice between her pillows—probably the reason he was snoring.

Well, that and his broken nose.

“Joe?” She murmured, running her hand up his bare chest. “Joe…”

Snorting, he jerked his head up, staring blearily at her. “Huh?”

Evelyn tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t hide her smile. “You were snoring.”

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart,” he mumbled, pulling her even closer. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but it’s alright.” She scooted until she was tucked under his chin, lips brushing his throat.

“It’s this busted nose,” he said, and she felt the words rumble in his chest. “Used to keep Jasmine up all night…”

Evelyn had just closed her eyes, ready to doze off again, when she caught what his sleep-fogged brain had let slip.

Stretching her legs, she glanced up, really only able to see his jawline covered in stubble. “Who’s Jasmine?”

Joe’s arm around her went rigid. “Um…” He shifted, not quiet pulling away, but clearly uncomfortable. “She’s… My ex-wife.”

“Oh.” It was really all she could say.

It didn’t shock her—she’d found the photos, after all—but it was still a piece of new information. The woman in the album hadn’t died, but she was still lost.

“I’m sorry,” she added.

She felt his chin against the top of her head. “For what?”

“That’s not easy… Getting divorced. I know it must’ve hurt.”

He grunted softly, a kind of affirmation.

After a moment he said, “She… We tried to make it work. I just, uh… I wasn’t… the same, after the war. It was hard. For both of us.”

Evelyn nodded against him. She wanted him to continue, but if it was too much…

“Last I heard, she’s in Arizona.”

“She’s not in LA?”

He shook his head. There was a beat of silence before he said, “Evelyn… I gotta tell you something. But I don’t want it to scare you.”

Moving so she could look at him, she said, “Well you have my attention.”

Joe reached up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “It’s not… I mean, I hope you won’t think differently about me after…”

Frowning, she stared at him. “What is it, Joe?”

“You know the Seigel case I was on?” He waited for her to nod before continuing. “Jasmine was caught up in it. She’d taken pictures of a hit Ben Seigel did himself, her boyfriend was trying to use them to blackmail Bugsy, and… I did what I could to help her out of it. Stuff that… wasn’t exactly legal.”

Evelyn considered his words for a moment before nodding once. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“You were helping someone you care about,” she said. “Maybe it wasn’t legal, or right, but… I know you. Legality and morality don’t always mean the same thing.”

His lips twitched as he watched her. “You trust me that much, huh?”

“I guess I’d better, seeing as we’re pretty tightly wound together in this.”

His gaze darted down to where the sheet had fallen, exposing her. “I’ll say.”

Laughing, she lightly smacked his arm. “Not _just_ that.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head, ruffling her hair.

“Joe?”

“Hm?”

She locked eyes with him. “Do you still love her?”

He looked like she’d just slapped him. His eyelids fluttered, stunned by her direct question.

“I…” Joe swallowed. “Maybe. I think a part of me is always gonna love her…” He looked away for a moment before saying, “But I know it’s not the same. We’d never… work. Not now. She’d never be able to come back, not with people still looking for her.”

Evelyn bit her lip. “I think I can sympathize.”

His hand cupped the side of her neck, thumb running along her jaw. “I don’t want you to think I’m… That I’m just biding my time. You matter to me, Evelyn.”

She smiled, leaning over to kiss him. “Good. ‘Cause I’m kinda fond of you too.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirked.

“Even if your snoring could wake the dead.”

His groan turned into a chuckle as he rolled his eyes, but she kissed him again, letting him know she didn’t mean it.

“I don’t mind,” she told him. “I like your broken nose. I think it makes you rugged looking.”

His hand skimmed down to her waist, gripping her. “You like it, huh?”

“Mhm hmm.”

Moving to kiss her throat, her shoulder, the center of her chest, he pressed his thigh between hers, eliciting a soft moan from her. He was just about to work his way further down when Evelyn glanced at the clock and tapped his shoulder.

“Joe? You gotta get to the station.”

“I can be late,” he murmured against the side of her left breast.

“You mean, late…er?”

Turning to look, Joe groaned. “Shit, how long did we sleep?”

“In our defense, we _did_ wear each other out.”

Smirking, he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Wanna wear each other out again tonight?”

“Your place or mine?”

“I’ll come back here,” he said, starting to sit up. “You’re closer to the docks.”

Evelyn shook her head. “Huh?”

Scratching his jaw, Joe made a noise in thought. “That’s right, I didn’t get to tell you. We’ve got one of our stings tonight.”

Grabbing her dressing gown off the nearby chair, she wrapped herself up as she said, “So who’s the lucky contestant?”

“Bill Parker. And Hal’s nervous as hell.”

“Well can you blame him?”

Joe shook his head. “No. I just hope Parker takes it as well as Hal did.”

“The Boy Scout getting angry about good police work? Doubt it.”

As Joe started to get dressed, she thought about her encounter with Mickey Cohen and Sid Rothman, about seeing Ned at the club. She knew she needed to tell Joe, but he was already hurrying into the bathroom to clean up.

 _I’ll tell him tonight,_ she thought, stepping into the kitchen to make coffee. _One goon story at a time…_

***

Lock up was still crowded with Dragna and Cohen thugs that morning as Joe walked passed. Several uniformed officers were grumbling about keeping the peace between the two groups, saying it was like adding gasoline and fire in a room.

Joe couldn’t argue there.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he heard Ned before he saw him.

“… Yeah, I’ll be right with you, hold tight. Hey Sam, you good? Alright, gimme a second okay…”

Joe readied himself for another round of cordial public displays when Ned appeared at his side.

“Morning Stax,” he said.

“I need to talk to you.” Ned bumped his arm with his hat. “In private.”

Setting the coffee carafe down, Joe followed Ned to a secluded corner of the office. The two men glanced around to be sure no one was listening in.

“You know, I’m trying real hard not to be offended you thought you could pull one over on me.” Ned’s glare was sharp.

Joe had only ever seen him that mad a couple times overseas, when someone insinuated he didn’t know what he was talking about. It never ended well for them. And it didn’t seem like it would be ending well for Joe either.

“Excuse me?”

“I had a meeting with Mickey Cohen yesterday. Stopped by the Clover Club.” Ned’s eyebrow lifted. “And who should I see in Mickey’s office, getting chatted up by him and Sid, but your girl.”

Joe had never had a heart attack before, but he was thinking this was the beginning of one.

“My… What.”

“And all this time I’ve been telling you Mickey’s onto the _cops_ you planted, when really it’s been your girlfriend.”

Joe struggled to catch up. Lack of oxygen will do that.

“Mickey Cohen… talked to Evelyn?”

“Pulled her into the office, asking if she’d seen anything suspicious. Thank Christ your girl knows how to play a room full of moony-eyed bastards, otherwise she’d be under twelve feet of concrete by now.”

Anger snapped in Joe, clouding the corners of his vision. “They’re not gonna fuckin’ touch her.”

“Then pull her outta there, gunny,” Ned told him in a harsh whisper. “What were you thinking getting your woman to be a CI?”

“I didn’t. She did that all on her own.”

“Right,” Ned scoffed.

“Ned…” Joe held his gaze. “She used to be a reporter. In New York.” He swallowed, trying to keep calm. “She investigated Meyer Lansky’s rackets. She was so good it got her boss killed.”

Ned’s chin dropped, sighing heavily. “Shit…”

“I didn’t put her up to this, she went in looking for--”

“Don’t tell me,” Ned cut him off. “The less I know the better.” Glancing around in thought, he finally said, “Alright, I’ll keep Mickey and Sid off her trail as best as I can, deflect. But if they find out about her, she’s on her own, gunny. I can’t protect her. Understand?”

Joe nodded, feeling his knees going spongy.

“Jesus Christ, Joe. You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“Told her she was trouble.”

“With a capital T.”

Looking passed Joe’s shoulder, Ned told him, “I gotta go. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know.” Poking Joe in the chest gently, he added, “And you owe me about six-thousand favors now.”

Before Joe could reply, Ned was gone, half way down the hall to speak to his numerous clients.

It took Joe about two minutes and countless deep breaths before he could get back to work.

***

To almost no one’s surprise, Bill Parker wasn’t the mole.

Eddie and Joe sat in Eddie’s car for a full thirty minutes before Hal radioed them back in.

And to his immense credit, Parker didn’t even flinch when they explained what they’d done. He just grinned a little, looked at Joe and said, “Now that’s smart police work. Good job.” Quickly following it with questions as to how he should be involved for the next sting, and how to make sure no one got suspicious. He even added a couple suspects of his own, but saying they’d come up with a new plan for those individuals.

As they were all dismissed, Hal mumbled, “He really is a Boy Scout.”

Eddie and Joe just chuckled as they left the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from jazz and swing songs on this fic's playlist


	16. Ain't Misbehavin'

Evelyn was in the kitchen when she heard the lock on her apartment door click, and she smiled.

“You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be,” she called.

The sounds of Joe’s jacket and hat being hung up preceded him saying, “It’s official. Bill Parker is not in the mob’s pocket.”

“Huh. I’ll admit, I was kinda waiting for him to be dirty.”

“What in the…” Joe stopped in the doorway. “Did we have an earth quake I didn’t know about?” He stepped into the kitchen, looking around like he was surrounded by hazardous materials.

The kitchen _was_ a bit of a wreck… She’d had an incident with a mixer and a couple dropped eggs.

“I was trying my hand at a new recipe,” she said, turning. “I know, it’s a little crazy right now--”

“Crazy. Disaster area. Synonyms, right?”

 “Stop it.” She set the bowl in her hands down. “It’s messy but I followed the recipe to a T, so it should taste fine.”

“Do you always cook at nine-thirty at night?”

She smirked, shaking her head. “No, but when I don’t get off work until late, and you’re even later, not much is open around here. And I’m not a fan of starving.”

Comedically maneuvering around a pile of flour on the floor, Joe leaned down to kiss her. “Hi.”

“Hi back.” She kissed him again. “Hungry?”

“Thirsty,” he said, moving around her to the cabinet for a glass. After downing a full glass of water, he went for her stash of whiskey.

“Long day?” She teased, seeing him pour more than his usual shot of liquor.

When Joe turned to face her, Evelyn’s stomach dropped. He looked so serious, but not angry… More overwrought. Upset.

“Joe?”

“Why didn’t you tell me Mickey Cohen pulled you into his office last night?”

She halted, eyes wide. “Who told you--?”

“Doesn’t matter who told me, it matters that _you_ didn’t.”

Pressing her palm into the counter, she looked up at him. “I was going to. Last night when I met you at Bunny’s, but then you were a jerk—”

“I wasn’t—”

“And then we _made up…_ ” She emphasized the last two words, hoping he’d smile. It almost succeeded, his lips twitching and fondness in his eyes. “And by the time we were finished _making up_ , I was nearly unconscious.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this morning?”

Planting a hand on her hip, she said, “How about you skip this part—the doubting, ‘why are you keeping secrets’ part—and get to what’s got you riled. It was Ned, right? He told you.”

Joe nodded, taking a gulp of his whiskey. “Yeah. He was at the station today. Told me he saw you.”

“I’m just glad he didn’t blow my cover.”

“Evelyn, this is getting too dangerous.”

She scoffed. “No, it isn’t.”

“How can you say that when Mickey Cohen himself interrogated you? With Sid Rothman right there.”

“Interrogated me? Please, I’ve been drilled harder by Mrs. Balsam.”

“Stop making light of this, Evelyn,” he said, setting his glass down. “You’re in trouble. Not only do they know who you are, but if they find out you lied to them—”

“They won’t.”

“How? Because you’re just that good at fooling people?”

Turning to check on the beef pot pie in the oven, she said, “I think I’ve done pretty good so far.”

“And what if you slip up, huh? You’re really willing to risk it?” Joe took half a step forward. “One mistake, just one, and you’re in a world of hurt. You can’t be careless around these people. I mean, look at what happened to your boss in New York.”

She slammed the oven door closed so hard she was surprised she didn’t break the damn thing.

“How dare you throw that in my face,” she spat. “You think that’s funny? Some cruel joke—”

Joe lifted his hands like he wanted to hold her by the arms, but she backed up. “No, no, I wasn’t… I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant…”

“You think I can’t handle this. That I’m going to get someone else killed. Worried about your own hide now, Teague?”

“To hell with that, I’m worried about yours,” he snapped. “Ned told me if they’d found out it was you, you’d have been given a concrete funeral. Is that something you want?”

Evelyn shook her head. “Of course not, but—”

“Damnit Jasmine, why can’t you just listen to reason for once!”

They both stopped, realization crashing between them on the kitchen tile.

Joe looked mortified, his face reddening even deeper, the hue reaching the tips of his ears. He looked away, hands falling to his sides.

Swallowing, Evelyn tilted her head. “You just called me by your ex-wife’s name.”

Joe was silent for a long time before grunting, “Yeah.”

He still wouldn’t look at her. It nearly broke her heart to watch him struggle with himself like that.

“Well…” she started, voice softer. “I suppose there are more embarrassing situations that could have happened in.”

Shocked by her joke, he looked up, a quiet laugh rumbling out of him.

“Yeah… Yeah, I guess.” A grin flashed across his face.

Easing closer, she asked, “Do I remind you of her?”

He thought for a moment, gaze drifting down. “Hm… Maybe. Yeah.” He nodded once. “Sometimes.”

Evelyn’s chest felt heavy, dread piling on like bricks. “Is that… a bad thing, or…?”

“You’re similar,” Joe admitted. “She was headstrong too. Wit that cut like a razor.”

Her breath was trapped in her throat as she asked, “Is that what I do? Cut you?”

Joe shook his head firmly, finally looking up again. “No. No, you…” His mouth curved, almost a smile. “You drive me crazy. But you spar.”

“I, what?”

“I jab, you duck. I block, you give me a right hook.”

Smirking, she said, “Oh, we’re onto sports metaphors now.”

Joe leaned closer, just a fraction. “You fight, but you don’t fight dirty.”

“Sure I do,” she said, warmth creeping up her cheeks. “Just not with you.”

The tension bled out of his shoulders as he smiled at her. Reaching for her, he tugged at her hands until she was inches from him.

She closed the distance, cupping his face and kissing him fully.

Pulling back, noses brushing, she said, “You’re just lucky I don’t have a haymaker in my repertoire.”

His lips moved against hers, gentle but claiming. “Yeah you do,” he whispered.

Evelyn didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant before he was scooping her up and setting her down on the counter, making her laugh.

“How much longer until that thing in the oven is finished?” Joe asked, lips against her neck.

“Twenty minutes, I think,” she said, clutching at his shoulders.

Kissing a trail down her throat, to her cleavage, he mumbled, “Guess if it starts burning, we’ll stop then, huh?”

She sighed as he cupped her through the fabric of her dress. “Sure.”

They definitely didn’t stop, even when the stench of burning pot pie filled the kitchen.

In fact, Joe managed to make her fall apart twice before even considering checking on the food.

“I worked hard on that,” she grumbled as he pulled the blackened dish from the oven.

“I’m sure it’ll taste okay,” he said, fanning some of the smoke away. “Just gotta scrape off the charred bits.”

Joe was right. Once you took off the burnt crust and smothered the rest in gravy, it almost tasted like it was supposed to. They both ate sitting half naked on the kitchen floor, laughing at the grey and brown mess of a dinner they were eating.

“I’m never letting you distract me from a task again,” she teased, pushing a hunk of what she thought was potato across her plate.

Joe smirked, lifting an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?”

***

Eddie practically bowled Joe over the next morning, lunging out of an office to get his attention.

“Jesus, Eddie,” Joe muttered. “Never seen you move that fast.”

“We gotta talk. Now.”

Joe cast a longing glance at the coffee pot at the end of the hall. “Can I--?”

“Nope. Now.”

Scowling, Joe followed him into the conference room.

“What is it, Ed?”

Crossing his arms, Eddie pegged him with a stare. “What do you wanna discuss first? The bad news or the terrible news?”

Joe’s exhaustion doubled. He really wished he had a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Dealer’s choice,” he said, lowering himself into a chair.

“Alright. You know how the first bug in Mickey’s office got shorted out by the rain?”

Joe nodded.

“Guess who dropped a new and improved bug into Mickey’s office night before last?”

Dread twisted Joe’s stomach as he stared up at Eddie.

“I caught the very interesting conversation between Mickey, Sid, and someone else you probably know very well by now.”

Joe scrubbed his hand over his face. “Evelyn.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was working at the Clover? Why didn’t you tell me she was involved in this at all?”

“Because…” Joe leaned forward, thinking. “I knew you weren’t the mole, but the fewer people that knew Evelyn was at the Clover, the better.”

“What the hell is she even doing there?”

“Officially, she’s covering for a friend.”

Eddie tilted his head. “And unofficially?”

“She’s… gathering information about Mickey Cohen’s rackets. Finding anything to connect the rat in the department to Mickey, and from there figuring out Dragna’s next play with that hit list.”

“Jesus Christ, Joe.” Eddie covered his face with his hands.

“Yeah, been hearin’ that a lot lately.”

“You think that’s safe?”

Joe stood up, pacing by the window. “It wasn’t my call. By the time I got involved, if she disappeared from the Clover it would have looked suspicious. Look, I’m… I know I should’ve told you—”

“Damn right.”

“But I wasn’t keeping it from you, not like that.” Joe stared at him, pleading. “I swear, Eddie.”

“You told me this wasn’t another Jasmine Fontaine situation—”

Joe’s jaw clenched. “My ex wife has nothing to do with this.”

“Maybe not, but history has a habit of repeating itself.” Crossing his arms, Eddie leaned back against the table. “Alright, here’s the deal. I can cut the tape down, make it look like the bug only started working later that night after Evelyn left the room. But you have got to keep her out of that office from now on.”

“I can do my best.”

“Joe, even if it’s for the greater good, we can’t keep tampering with evidence like this. It will come back to bite us.”

Nodding, Joe looked to his friend. “I know. Once we find this mole, it’ll all clear up, I promise you, Ed.”

“Well funny you should mention the mole…” Eddie strode to the door, checking through the window that no one was lingering in the hallway. “That’s the terrible news.”

“The tape with Evelyn on it was only the _bad_?”

“We had a couple of uniformed officers at the dock, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious while we cleared the next area to use—”

“Dolan was next, right?” Joe interrupted.

“Right. But the blue suits saw someone sniffing around container 213.”

Joe scowled. “That’s the number we assigned to Parker’s sting.”

“Exactly.”

Too many thoughts collided in Joe’s head at once, making him shake in head. He really wished he had some coffee…

“Parker _is_ the mole?”

Eddie shrugged his slender shoulders. “Our guys couldn’t get a good enough look to identify him, but my guess is it was a goon checking things out.”

“Bill the Boy Scout is working for the mob.”

Making a noise at the back of his throat, Eddie glanced at Joe. “Well… I’m not sure of that either.”

Joe blinked. “You’re making my head hurt.”

“Okay, look at it like this. We tell Bill the Boy Scout that container number and a shipment time, all things that would have been leaked to Cohen if they were trying to make a move on Dragna’s shipment before he could snatch it up. But no one shows. Then later that night, after we’ve already told Parker our scheme, someone goes to the dock to poke around.”

“Which would mean they didn’t find the information until after Parker got the all clear from us.”

Eddie nodded once. “And what do you do with information you find out is fake, Joe?”

“I throw it away.”

The two men stared at each other, realization dawning.

“The mole has access to Parker’s office,” Joe said, snapping his fingers. “Found the shipping schedule we fabricated—”

“That _I_ fabricated.”

“That _you_ fabricated, went to check it out before telling Mickey.”

Eddie tilted his head. “If he even told Mickey. The container was empty.”

“So the mole has access to Parker’s office and now knows we’re onto him,” Joe said. “We don’t have much time left.”

“We gotta round up the guys and tell Hal.”

Joe nodded, starting for the door. “You get Hal and the guys, I’ll track down Parker.”

“Sure you don’t want coffee first?”

“Ha, funny, Eddie. Real funny.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles from jazz and swing songs on this fic's playlist :)


	17. Unsquare Dance

Crowded into the conference room, Joe and Eddie faced the rest of the group. It was the first time Joe felt like his colleagues believed what he was telling them, and he knew it was mostly due to Eddie being at his side, agreeing with him.

He should buy the guy a bottle of bourbon or something to thank him.

Mike Hendry looked like he’d swallowed a cup of vinegar, but he was hanging on every word.

“So this mole, that you guys have been smoking out without us, is getting his information from Parker?” Dolan asked, leaning forward.

“Not Parker. Parker’s _office_ ,” Eddie corrected. “Gonna tell me I mumble again, Pat?”

“You did just then, so…”

“Fellas,” Hal cut them off. “So this guy got into Parker’s office after the fact and fished that faked shipping paper out of the garbage. He must’ve known something important was going on.”

Parker shifted his weight, arms crossing. “It’s a short list of people who have keys _and_ have knowledge of my current cases.”

Joe looked to Parker. “Got a hunch about any on that list?”

“I’ve got hunches about a lot of people…” Parker’s gaze drifted in thought. “But this is a little hasty. Nothing that a senior officer would risk doing. So…”

“What about that Sergeant that’s always with you?” Joe asked. “The one who helped on the Seigel case?”

“Miles Hewitt,” Parker said, looking suddenly troubled. “I confided in Hewitt about the bagman we were flipping to be a CI. Told him when we were planning to meet with him.”

Hal sat up straighter, staring at Parker. “You think he could be the leak?”

“For the right price? I wouldn’t be that surprised honestly.”

“Eddie, get together with Tug and look into the cases Hewitt’s been involved with going back the last few months. Mike, Pat, I want eyes on Hewitt—if he leaves, if he eats, if he blows his nose, I wanna know about it.”

Joe was beginning to rescind his previous thought about being part of the team again, when Hal stood up and gestured to him.

“Teague, I need you to round up twenty uniforms and head to the Clover Club.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Eddie’s head whip around to stare. But he was too busy keeping his expression neutral and making sure his lungs still functioned.

“Sir?”

“We have evidence on Cohen for at least obstruction of justice, and if Hewitt knows we’re onto him, he’s probably sent out the call to Mickey. Get down there before he has a chance to clean up his mess.”

“Might not get much, but it’ll put a damper on Mickey Cohen’s day,” Parker added.

Joe nodded, head moving of its own volition. “Yes, sir.”

Heart and mind, they were both racing. Evelyn was already at Clover… And he was about to bust down the doors with twenty cops to raid the place.

“Sir, should one of us go with Teague?” Dolan asked. “Lend a hand?”

Joe’s throat went dry. If Dolan saw Evelyn at the club, he’d know they were hiding something from the start, he’d put her at risk, and everything would come crashing down.

“No, that’s alright,” Hal said. “I want you and Mike riding together in case Hewitt tries to slip by.”

 _Thank God for small favors,_ Joe thought, keeping his gaze front and center.

Dolan relented, wandering back over to Mike to gather their stuff before heading out.

“Better hurry, Teague.” Parker’s voice shook him from his thoughts. “Don’t want to waste any more time.”

If only Parker knew…

***

It sounded like an explosion.

One second Evelyn was in the dark room at the Clover changing the lightbulbs in the cameras, the next doors from all sides were getting busted down and blue suits were swarming in.

She was surprised she didn’t drop anything.

“Los Angeles Police,” a man called out. “Everyone put your hands up, this is a raid.”

A few of the girls screamed in frightened surprise and more men stormed in, telling them all to line up against the far wall.

“Get your hands up, everyone,” the man yelled, and she recognized the voice. “LAPD, no body move.”

_Joe._

From her corner of the dark room, she could see teams of uniformed officers coming in through the delivery entrance and the back exit. Even if she was stupid enough to run, there was no where to get out. She was trapped.

Setting the camera down, she calmly walked out into the hall, putting her hands up. An officer saw her and ordered her to go with him, dragging her by the elbow into the main restaurant.

She saw the back of his head first. Even wearing a hat, she’d recognize him anywhere.

“Kitchen and waitstaff over there, against the wall,” he called out to the cluster of officers around him.

He hadn’t turned around yet, and she was careful not to stare. So far, none of the cops with him were men she recognized, but she didn’t want to call the emotion she felt ‘relief’ just yet.

Keeping her head down, she did as another officer told her, and stood with several of the waiters and hostesses to the left of the club.

She still had her hands up when Joe turned, looking right at her.

Those dark eyes were made even darker by the brim of his hat, and the anguish clouding his expression.

And just like that he was looking away again, as if she was a stranger.

 _Good Joe,_ she thought. _Keep it up. I’ll be fine._

Ordering more officers to search the back, Joe was making it clear they didn’t care about anyone but Mickey Cohen, Sid Rothman, or any of their direct associates.

The commotion got louder as the cops started tossing the place, but she still heard one of the officers talking to Joe, catching the end of their discussion.

“Cohen seems to have just left,” the officer told him. “We’ll keep looking for anything of use. And one of the boys said Detective Dolan just radioed in, Hewitt was seen heading this direction about ten minutes ago.”

“They think he’s coming to here?” Joe asked.

“Probably doesn’t know we’re here. Want us to post uniforms at the doors?”

“No, no, you’ll spook him,” Joe said, shaking his head. “Keep searching the office and back rooms, I’ll talk to the staff.”

Evelyn turned away, keeping her face down as more officers hurried by. The rest of the staff were huddling together in scared clusters, but she didn’t want to be noticed so she stuck to the wall. She saw Joe’s shoes first before she heard him.

“Alright, listen up,” he called. “None of you are under arrest but I do need your full cooperation. Before we talk, I’m gonna need you to empty your pockets and consent to a quick search.”

His eyes darted to hers, and she felt the weight of something he was trying to convey but she couldn’t latch on.

Joe started with one of the waiters, having him empty his trouser pockets and opening his vest before they started talking. It was quick, just a few questions about where Cohen had been, if he’d seen him, if there was anything strange going on the last week or so.

Moving onto one of the other hostesses, Joe told her, “Like I said miss, just a quick search, nothing funny, and then onto the questions, alright? No need to make a fuss, right?”

As he said it, he looked to Evelyn once more, and understanding hit her.

When it was her turn, Joe stood directly in front of her, shoulders square and jaw set sternly.

“Ma’am, can you lift your arms for me please?”

_I hope he’s right about this…_

“No, I will not,” she said firmly. “I shouldn’t have to be searched, I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Even with his face unchanging, his eyes sparked with delight once more. She’d caught his drift.

“Ma’am, you’re not under arrest, you’re just being questioned. It’s for your own protection—”

“You see any pockets in this dress?” Evelyn interrupted. “I’ve got nothing hidden on me, and you have no right to search me if I’m not under arrest.”

Sighing in feigned annoyance, Joe told her, “Miss, turn around, face the wall.”

“No,” she snapped. “You pigheaded cops come busting in here, scaring everyone to death, and then you wanna cop a feel while you’re at it? That’s why they call you _cops_ , isn’t that right? You’re nothing but thugs with badges.”

One of the other hostesses glared at her. “Evelyn, just do it,” she hissed.

“No, this cop has no right to search me, no right to be here. Did anyone see a warrant? They have to have a warrant to be here like this.”

Joe grabbed her by the elbow, but it was all for show. His grip was firm but wouldn’t leave a mark.

“Ma’am, calm down. Now I’m not gonna ask you again—”

“Oh, just like a man to tell a woman to ‘calm down’,” Evelyn cried as he backed her up. “You’ll have to try harder than that if you wanna shut me up.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Joe snapped, hauling her away from the group. “I think you and I need to talk somewhere else.”

She kicked up more of a fuss as he pulled her around the corner but only until she knew the others couldn’t hear her and then she was quiet as a mouse.

“How was that?” She asked, looking up at him.

“Perfect sweetheart,” he whispered. “Now we gotta get you outta here.”

“What the hell is going on, Joe?”

Spotting a couple of uniformed officers, she struggled against Joe’s hold to sell their story. Joe told them she was causing trouble, probably one of Cohen’s girls, and he was gonna question her away from her friends. They only nodded and went to keep searching the kitchen.

“We found the mole,” Joe told her in a deep rumble. “But he’s a sergeant. Dolan and Hendry are watching him, and he’s on his way here. If Dolan sees you—”

“I’m toast.”

“Exactly. You gotta run, okay?”

Walking her to the back exit, Joe slowed only to check that there weren’t any officers in the alley.

“Where am I supposed to go? The station?”

He shook his head, looking over his shoulder. “No, no. Not there. My place. Here…” He dug into his pocket for keys and a few bills. “Take a cab, don’t let anyone see you. Wait there until I call you.”

“What about this place? People will get curious—”

“Not as curious as Mike and Pat if they see you working the Clover club,” Joe told her, holding the door open. “You gotta run. Go. Go now, Evelyn.”

With one foot out the door, she turned and grabbed him by the front of the shirt, hauling him in for a fierce, bruising kiss.

“Be careful,” she whispered, releasing him. He grunted in response and she smiled.

Glancing down the alley, she darted away from the main street, down the block. In her spangly dress she was sure to catch people’s attention, so she flagged down the first cab she saw and told them Joe’s address.

Turning in her seat, she watched out the back window as more police cars pulled up to the back of Clover.

Maybe her luck was changing after all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from swing and jazz songs on this fic's playlist :)


	18. Feeling Good

The raid had brought out reporters in droves, all of them snapping photos as police came and went from the club, shouting their questions but getting no answers.

And just as Joe was about to tell someone to get the press out of there, an even louder commotion was heard outside.

Sergeant Miles Hewitt was apprehended in front of the Clover club by Dolan and Hendry trying to run. They’d pulled over, tried to get him to come in for a couple questions, when he’d bolted on them like a scared rabbit.

Knowing you’re cornered will do that to you.

He’d been right around the block from the club, and when he ran, he ended up in the middle of the crowd of reporters and police and curious citizens. Dolan tackled him at the feet of a photographer for the Tribune. Everyone was pretty sure it would make the front page.

That day the LA police department was hailed as heroes, taking down corrupt cops and keeping the mob in check.

Chief Parker couldn’t have been happier.

After the circus of people was wrangled, and evidence had been taken in, Hal called everyone back to the station.

Debriefing was more congratulatory back slapping than anything else.

They’d finally cleared a mole out of their department. They had the upper hand now.

Joe waited until most of the other guys were out of ear shot before going over to Parker.

“Sir? Can I talk to you and Hal for a moment?”

It was possible that despite doing it all for the right reasons, he’d still lose his job over what he was about to tell them. But he and Evelyn had agreed…

Hal lead them into his office and shut the door. “Teague, what’s on your mind?”

Joe took a steadying breath. “The CI that got murdered… We have a witness.”

Parker and Hal both gaped at him.

“Have for a while now. But with the mole—Hewitt—being the cause of Carl Steckler and Fat Jack’s murder, I thought if I brought the witness in before we caught him, she’d be in danger. I couldn’t risk it.”

Hal’s white eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “ _She_?”

Joe nodded, clearing his throat. “Evelyn Conway.”

“The witness who brought in the Dragna hit list?” Parker asked.

“Yes sir. She saw two of Cohen’s men shoot our CI in that alley.”

Very rarely did Joe feel nervous, but standing there, explaining he’d been lying and harboring a witness, keeping evidence and information from them, pretending (and then not pretending) to be in a relationship with Evelyn to keep suspicious eyes away from her, Joe felt like a child in the principal’s office.

Looking to Parker, Joe said, “I didn’t want to keep any of this from you, but from where I stood I didn’t see much choice. It was either that or risk her life.”

Hal and Parker both were quiet, taking it all in. Eventually, Parker spoke.

“Think she’d be willing to tell us her story now?”

Joe nodded. “I can call her.”

“Good,” Parker said with a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

***

Surrounded by the same detectives as the first time she’d given a statement, Evelyn stirred her coffee as she started from the beginning.

The very beginning.

She didn’t see a reason to hide it anymore.

Holding Parker’s gaze, she told her story. From New York to LA, how she’d managed to get there, what she’d done, why… Everything.

She’d held back the tears as she talked about Meyer Lansky and her editor, but when she got to telling them about witnessing their CI getting murdered, her voice cracked, and the tears fell passed her lashes.

Once it started, she struggled to stop. She cried through describing the sounds, hearing Cohen’s goons beat the man first, kicking him until she heard bones breaking. He’d been gasping, choking… Broken ribs had probably punctured his lungs. They’d taken turns hitting him in the face, spitting on him.

And then they’d finally shot him. Tossed him in a dumpster. Walked away laughing.

Joe handed her a handkerchief and she glanced at him, whispering her thanks.

“Been pushing all that down deep,” she admitted, looking up at Hal and Parker. “Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive, Miss Conway,” Parker told her. “You witnessed a gruesome crime. And to have had other tragedy in your life before that… It takes a toll.”

Dolan leaned forward, face full of sympathy. “And you’re certain you can ID these men?”

“Not only that,” she started. “I sketched them when I spotted them at Clover. One of my many reporter tricks.”

“She collected a substantial amount of evidence on Cohen and Dragna,” Joe said. “It was her idea to smoke out the mole using Dragna’s shipment at the docks.”

The room hummed with impressed murmurs and interested glances. Evelyn smiled.

“It was _our_ idea,” she corrected, looking to Joe. “I’m glad it worked.”

Mike Hendry frowned as he watched them both. “So… that night, on Fifth Avenue…”

“I was there,” Joe admitted. “She called me after she witnessed the hit. I was picking her up.”

Mike leaned back, sighing. “Knew it.”

“Miss Conway, you’ve had quite the ordeal,” Parker said. “But you’re safe now.”

“I know what you’re going to ask, Chief Parker,” she said. “And yes, I’ll testify.”

Parker smiled, hardly able to contain his joy over taking out, not only a corrupt police sergeant, but a chunk of the Cohen mob.

 _Boy Scout,_ Evelyn thought.

“If it’s alright,” she started, finishing her coffee. “I’d really like to go home and get out of this very uncomfortable dress.” She looked down at the sequined hem and gaudy beading. “It’s not exactly daywear.”

The men chuckled, and Hal stood up, flashing a smile. “Teague, I guess you’ll do the honors?”

“Yes, sir.” Joe nodded, glancing at Evelyn.

She struggled to keep herself in check, but she knew her cheeks were turning pink.

She had a list of things Joe could have the honors to do, and none of them involved her wearing that dress.

“Alright men, good work today,” Parker announced. “Time to get some rest.”

As the others were filing out, Joe came up behind her, helping her with her coat. “Tired?”

“Not at all,” she whispered.

“Good. Let’s get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from jazz and swing songs on this fic's playlist :)


	19. You and Me and the Bottle Makes Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As if I'd write a fic this long without another smut scene. As if.

“If you tear this dress…” Evelyn started. “Marie is gonna hunt me down.”

Grinning against her skin, Joe murmured, “If you weren’t squirming so damn much…”

“And whose fault is that?”

Hoisting her legs up further, he settled between her thighs, keeping her pinned to the wall. “Just hold on tight, sweetheart.”

As if he really needed to tell her that. She was already grabbing his back and shoulders like she’d fall off the earth if she didn’t.

Hooking her ankles around his waist, she tilted her hips as he entered her and gasped.

“Okay?” He asked, barely above a grunt.

Eyes fluttering closed, she nodded. “Yes, God yes.” Wrapping one hand around the back of his neck, she held him tighter. “C’mon, Joe.”

He chuckled at her urgency but she knew he was feeling it too. The man had barely waited until they were in her apartment—hands snaking under the hem of her dress to get at her ass before she’d unlocked the door.

She really shouldn’t have been that surprised he wanted her standing up, against the wall at her door, teasing her as he’d stripped her underwear from her that she’d have to be quiet unless she wanted the neighbors to know what they were up to.

Joe wasn’t keeping either of them in check that time.

Short, powerful thrusts lit Evelyn up like a rocket. His grip on her thighs and ass would leave bruises and she couldn’t have been happier.

She didn’t realize her moans had gotten so loud until Joe was reaching up to press a couple fingers to her lips, quietly shushing her.

In retaliation she opened her mouth and sucked those two digits between her lips, taking them down to the knuckle.

“Christ, Evey…” Joe groaned, face still buried in the crook of her neck. “You’re killing me.”

Smiling around his fingers, she sucked them again before nipping the blunt tips and kissing away the sting. “Serves you right.”

His hips snapped against her, the metal from his belt clanging against the wall, and she cried out.

“What happened to being quiet?” She asked, panting roughly.

Licking a stripe up her cleavage, he grunted, “To hell with that.”

As he moved, she got higher and higher, but every time she thought she’d crest the edge it flew out of reach. Not that he wasn’t doing his hot-blooded best, but…

“Hold on,” she said, tapping his shoulder. “Joe, stop for a sec.”

Frowning, he halted suddenly. “Did I hurt you? Are you alright?”

Evelyn smiled, kissing him. “I’ll be great in about ten seconds. Let me down?”

Helping her feet to the floor, he backed up half a step, hands still on her.

She kissed him again, sliding her tongue passed his teeth until he was groaning. Turning in his hold, she hiked her dress hem up and bent at the waist, hands planted on the wall in front of her.

“Like this,” she told him. “Trust me.”

She could hear his breathing catch as he stared down at her, bare and presented in front of him.

Strong, calloused hands massaged either side of her ass until she was pressing back into his hold and whimpering. She thought he’d get right back to it, but he took his time, the newness of that angle adding to his excitement.

“Joe…” She urged, shifting her weight.

“Shh, shh.” With one hand on her hip, he reached up to rake his fingers through her hair, tangling a couple of the bobby pins. “Can’t fault a man for enjoying this.”

Smirking, she glanced over her shoulder. “Pretty sure you’d enjoy it more if you were—”

“Alright, alright,” he cut her off, grinning.

Gripping her hip tightly, he nudged forward, dragging through her folds. Evelyn moaned, dropping her head into the crook of her elbow.

When he finally entered her again, she clutched at the wall, nails dragging against cheap paint and drywall, making a high-pitched noise at the back of her throat.

“That’s it,” she gasped, planting her feet. “That’s… yes, God.”

Joe’s chuckle was more of a rumbling that reverberated through her. The hand he had in her hair skimmed down her back, around her waist to her lower belly, tilting her hips up slightly.

He filled her perfectly as he moved-- a languid, gentle slide at first that quickly became as hard and desperate as he’d thrust before. Evelyn tried to be quiet, she really did, but having him that deep, hitting that perfect spot… She was fighting a losing battle.

“Harder Joe, please,” she gasped, head falling between her arms.

His left hand grabbed a handful of her hair, tugging just enough to pull her head back. It didn’t hurt, the sting adding to her pleasure instead of detracting from it, but she knew he wouldn’t hold her like that for long. She was going to have to teach him over time that she wouldn’t break.

It started low in her belly, that chaotic thrumming that quickly spread to her limbs, causing her to shake and weaken. Bending her elbows, she held herself up against the wall, the top of her head brushing it as she moved.

Panting, she knew she was speaking but whatever words were falling passed her lips, she didn’t have control over them. She was possessed, her only point of focus the sheer pleasure rolling through her.

“Fuck… Joe,” she moaned, clenching around him. “I’m—”

Her voice cut out, turning into a faint screech as she came so hard her vision blurred.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he was saying behind her, still keeping the same pace.

She thought she was wrung out, but before she could get her bearings, she shattered apart again, nearly screaming his name.

Rough hands manhandled her, pulling her arms back behind her until she was nearly flush against his chest. The change in angle was almost enough to send her over the edge a third time, but Joe wasn’t far behind her, managing a few more strokes before he was choking on a groan. Head falling onto her shoulder, he held her close as they caught their breath.

Tilting her face towards his, she smiled. “Liked that, huh?”

He nodded, bumping her neck with his nose. “Oh yeah.”

“Me too.”

After a moment, he slid out, making her whimper at the loss. Kissing the hinge of her jaw, he stepped back enough to let her turn.

Evelyn shimmied her dress back into place as he tucked himself back into his trousers, leaving his belt undone.

“So… Is that a favorite of yours?” He asked, the tips of his ears pinking.

She grinned at his bashfulness. “The position or…?”

His answer was to look up at her through his lashes, lips quirking.

“I like it a lot, yeah,” she answered. “It offers quite a few perks. Only downside is I don’t get to see you.” She emphasized her statement by pressing a kiss to his lips, his cheek, his jaw. “And I _really_ like seeing you.”

Joe smiled, cupping the side of her face. “I like seeing you too.”

Evelyn thought about saying it… Those three little words that meant so much. But it felt… too soon. Wasn’t it too soon? They’d really only known each other a couple of weeks. Had only been together a few days.

It wasn’t the right time.

She’d tell him later, a different day, probably as they were falling asleep, or bickering, or maybe even both.

But she knew. And that’s what mattered.

“Joe?”

“Hm?”

“Now can I get out of this dress?”

He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, here,” he said, helping with the zipper. “How about you go take that off, get comfortable, and I’ll scrape some food together.”

“If this is going to be your go-to tactic of keeping me out of the kitchen…” She said, wandering towards her bedroom. “Well, honestly, it might work.”

His smile was big and bright, and she felt warm all over.

Yep, she knew. She was in love with Joe Teague.

The sap.

***

Joe made a pretty decent roast chicken, she had to admit.

Lounging on her sofa, in her slip and dressing gown, she’d propped her feet up in his lap—well, he’d pulled her legs over, and she didn’t fight him—while they both ate. It was nice, comfortable… She could see them doing that every night.

When they were finished, Joe took their plates back to the kitchen and came back with two glasses and a half empty bottle of bourbon.

“Oh good, dessert,” she said, grinning as he poured.

“Figured we could celebrate a little.”

“You did take down a corrupt cop today. That’s something to toast.”

Settling back against the cushions, he pulled her feet back into his lap, thumb massaging the arch of her foot gently.

“We wouldn’t have found out it was Hewitt without you,” he said, taking a sip. “You deserve the credit too.”

“I’ll split it with you,” she said, clinking her glass against his.

“Deal.”

They drank in silence and soon Evelyn was pouring herself another round.

Joe chuckled as he watched her. “You pour your drinks like a sailor on shore leave.”

“I like mine a little stiffer than most gals.”

They both stopped, realizing what she’d said.

Joe laughed—a big, booming laugh that shook his whole body—and Evelyn giggled. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh like that.

She could do this every night too. Laugh with him. Bicker over what to listen to on the radio-- of course he wanted to listen to the fight when she wanted to hear a broadcasted concert (they compromised to switch it every ten minutes.)

Running his hand up and down her calf, Joe cocked his head, glancing up at her. “Your legs are awfully smooth.”

“Thank you,” she nearly slurred. Maybe she should have stopped after three glasses. “You know how they rationed nylon during the war? Well, maybe you know…”

“I remember, yeah.”

“Right, well, that meant they stopped making stockings. So most ladies I knew—myself included—started shaving.”

“Huh.”

She nodded, pulling her nightgown hem up over her knee to show him. “We all would shave, and we’d take grease pencils and draw lines up the back of our legs to make it look like we were wearing stockings when we weren’t.”

He coughed out a laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “All my friends back east did it. But they all stopped when we could get our hosiery back.”

“But you didn’t?”

Running her hand over her shin, she said, “I liked how it felt. And pure bliss is sliding into bed with freshly shaved legs. You’ll never know that kinda joy, Teague.”

He smirked at her. “I think I’ve found a different kind of joy…” His hand travelled upwards, around the back of her knee to her thigh. He was just starting to go even further when her phone rang, jarring them.

“Who…” She grumbled, leaning back to grab the receiver. “Hello?”

“Miss Conway, sorry to bother you at home. This is Detective Eddie Sanderson—”

“Oh, hi Eddie!” She cleared her throat, realizing she sounded intoxicated. “Detective Sanderson. What can I do for you?”

“I was trying to get in touch with Joe. I tried his place first, but…”

“Oh, he’s right here. Hold on.”

Joe frowned at the phone for a second before taking it. “Teague.” After a moment, he sat up straighter and nodded. “Uh huh. Alright, yeah. Yeah I can do that. Sure. I’ll be there in… uh, gimme about twenty minutes? Okay, see you in a bit, Ed. Thanks.”

She took the phone back from him, hanging it up. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, they just need me to take a look at something they found during the raid. They think it links Cohen to one of my older homicide cases. They also wanted me to bring in your evidence.” Patting her leg gently, he eased her off his lap and stood up. “I’ll swing by my place to get it and then head to the station.”

“I thought you got tonight off…”

Joe smirked, leaning down until he was an inch from her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll be all yours when I get back.”

“I wasn’t pouting.”

“Yes you were,” he said. Kissing her, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s cute.”

“Don’t test your luck detective, or I’ll suddenly come down with a horrible headache.”

He kissed her again and the tip of his nose dragged over hers. “How about I bring more bourbon back with me?”

She smiled up at him. “And suddenly I’m feeling perfectly healthy.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Leaving her, he quickly pulled his holster and jacket on, checking for his keys. “I’ll try not to be too late.”

“Have fun protecting the city,” she called, waving.

Placing his hat on his head, he tugged the brim and smiled. “Ma’am.”

She was still grinning to herself when her door closed behind him.

***

Walking up to his building, Joe stared down at his keys in his hand, shuffling to find the right one. Exhaustion mixed with bourbon had his brain a little foggy, but at least he was sober enough to walk straight.

Nearby he heard a car door open and he glanced up.

“Dolan?”

“Hey Teague,” Dolan greeted with a smile, half out of his car. Leaning on his door, he jerked his head. “I was just coming to find you.”

“Oh, yeah, Eddie called.” Joe motioned over his shoulder towards his apartment. “I was going up now to get that stuff and then head over to the station. Gimme a minute and I’ll be back down.”

“Sure.” Dolan nodded, shifting like he was getting back into his car.

Turning, Joe looked down at his keys again.

Something heavy collided with the back of his head in blinding pain. And then the world went black.


	20. Man with the Hex

Loud pounding at her door yanked Evelyn out of sleep.

She’d dozed off on her sofa, the book on her chest falling to the floor as she sat up.

“Hold on,” she called, trying to orient herself. “Just… Just a moment.”

Rewrapping her dressing gown around herself, she tripped towards the door to look through the peephole.

“Eddie?” She asked, opening the door wide. “What’s--?”

“Where’s Joe?” Eddie asked, stepping passed her into the apartment.

Scowling, she brushed her hair from her face. “What are you talking about? He went to go meet you.”

“He said twenty minutes, it’s been two hours.” Eddie scanned the room, hands planted on his hips. “Did he say where he was going first?”

Evelyn swallowed, trying to clear the fog in her mind enough to be of use. “Uh, he said… You wanted the evidence I collected, but that was all stored at his place, so he was going there and then to the station.”

“How far is his apartment from here?”

“Ten minutes by car.”

Eddie started for the door and Evelyn motioned for him to stop.

“Wait right there,” she told him, hurrying towards her bedroom.

“What—”

“I’m coming with you, and if you tell me no I’ll just find my own way. Give me thirty seconds.”

She wasn’t even sure she shut the door as she rushed to pull on a skirt and blouse—one of her black and white combos from her newspaper days. Fighting with her shoes, she hopped out of the bedroom, yanking at the heel of her left oxford.

“Let’s go,” she told Eddie as she still fought to shove her foot into the shoe.

Eddie tugged the brim of his hat, watching her grab her keys and purse. “Joe’s gonna have my hide for this.”

“For what? Letting me come with you?” Tossing her keys into her bag she said, “Just tell him I punched you. He’ll believe it.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

Evelyn practically ran into the hallway. “What are you waiting for, Eddie? Let’s go.”

Eddie sighed heavily, closing the door behind him.

***

Joe knew he’d regained consciousness because of the searing pain. Can’t feel anything if you’re knocked out.

It was dark though, wherever he was. Damp too. He could smell saltwater, but he couldn’t hear the ocean.

 _Must be inside somewhere,_ he thought.

“Cut the act. I know you’re awake.”

Lifting his head, Joe squinted into the inky shadows that surrounded him. “Dolan?”

Joe started to move his hands only to find them cuffed behind him to a steel pipe. So he was inside.

The back of Joe’s skull felt like it was ready to split in half and spill his brain down his shoulders. Wincing, he scanned the darkness again.

“Missed your calling, Dolan. You hit like a major league slugger,” he said.

Out of the corner of his left eye, he spotted him leaning against the wall.

“Maybe in the next life, huh?” Dolan commented.

Joe’s eyes were adjusting to the dark, and as he glanced around he could see the basic frame of whatever building they were in. It was small, not a warehouse or something similar. More like an empty boathouse. The pipe he was cuffed to went from the concrete floor all the way to the ceiling—a support for the roof he guessed.

“So… It was you,” Joe said, narrowing his gaze at the Dolan-shaped shadow. “You were the mole.”

Dolan chuckled low in his throat. “You think there’s only one corrupt cop in LA? Every precinct is crawling with ‘em.”

“Then if Hewitt was leaking information to Cohen…”

The spark from a lighter illuminated the side of Dolan’s face as he lit a cigarette. “I had a different assignment.”

Footsteps echoed around the room as Dolan walked over, yanking the chain of a lightbulb above their heads. It momentarily blinded Joe, forcing him to look down.

“Oh yeah, what was that?” Joe blinked.

Dolan squatted down in front of Joe, taking another hit from his cigarette. “Bring them the guy that killed Bugsy Seigel.”

Joe stiffened. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“It’s just us here, Joe,” Dolan said. “No reason to play stupid. You shot Ben Seigel nine times through the window of his living room. And then ten minutes later, you strolled in with the rest of us to work the case as if nothing happened.”

Joe stared at him, silent.

“Takes balls,” Dolan added. “Not a smart move though. Very rash.”

“I don’t. Know what. You’re talking about.”

Smiling through a cloud of smoke, Dolan shrugged. “You don’t have to admit it to me. I already know. But Sid… He’s not gonna let you die until you say it. And that man would torture a goldfish if it had something he wanted. Food for thought.” He stood up, tapping the ash from his cigarette.

“You’re one of Rothman’s goons, huh?” Joe shifted, metal cuffs clanging against pipe. “Not an easy man to work with. Lemme guess, they have something on you, right?”

In the yellow lamplight, he saw Dolan’s shoulders go rigid.

“Yeah, they dug up something on you…” Joe continued. “Must’ve been nasty for you to flip and be their pet cop. What’d you do, huh? Get caught in bed with one of their whores? You kill someone? You owe ‘em money?”

Dolan paused, burning end of his cigarette glowing red in the shadows.

Joe squinted, nose scrunching. “That’s it, right? You have a gambling problem.”

Inhaling deeply, Dolan said, “Not any more I don’t.”

Joe’s laugh was dry, humorless, like the scraping of a nail on cinderblock. “That was their price, huh… You hand me over, they forgive your debt. Man, you must be a shitty gambler.”

“You gotta smart mouth for a dead man.”

Joe shrugged. “What else have I got to lose?”

“The favor I’m doing for you.”

Smirking, Joe stared up at him. “Favor? You got me chained in here like an animal. What was the other option, hanging me upside down from the ceiling?”

Striding over, Dolan squatted down again, this time closer. “Keeping them away from Evelyn.”

Joe’s heart double timed. “What?”

“I was in the room, I heard her. She can put away at least two of Sid’s top guys, it would be the beginning of the end for Cohen. Even after she testifies, she’ll never be safe. They’ll come after her. She’ll be dead before the judge bangs his gavel.”

Joe lurched forward, metal screeching behind him. “They touch her, and I’ll kill them. You hear me? I’ll kill every last one of them.”

“No, you’ll be at the bottom of a Nevada landfill,” Dolan told him, voice calm. “But I won’t. You understand what I saying? There’s no hope for you Joe, you’re toast. But she has a future, as long as you play nice. Got it?”

“What’re you gonna do, huh? You- You gonna follow her around like a stray dog?”

Dolan finished his cigarette and stamped it out on the ground. “After a few weeks, maybe a month, the LAPD will get an anonymous tip about a corpse. You’ll have a dignified memorial service, no one will come forward with any leads about who did the job, and soon people will forget your case. And Evelyn is gonna need someone to lean on. I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.”

Joe glared at him. “Easier ways to get a girlfriend, Dolan.”

“I know it’s hard to imagine, but I am a gentleman. I’ll just be there when she needs, offer help, compassion, comfort… What she does with that is up to her.”

“She’ll see right through you,” Joe said, lip curling. “She’ll know. She’ll put the pieces together.”

Dolan nodded. “Maybe. If she does, I’ll make it quick. Sid will never touch her.”

“Fuck you,” Joe spat. “You piece of shit—”

“Told you, Teague. Play nice. No reason she has to die because of your mistakes.”

Rearing back, Joe struggled against the pipe but it didn’t budge. Dolan stood, walking to a narrow window.

“Last chance, Joe,” Dolan said. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Go to hell.”

“I think you’re gonna get there first.” Turning, Dolan pegged him with a stare. “Sid’s here.”

***

Evelyn nearly jumped out of the car before Eddie even came to a full stop.

“That’s Joe’s car,” she said, pointing.

Closing his door, Eddie joined her on the sidewalk. “You think he’s still here?”

The glint of metal on the ground caught her attention. Stooping, she picked up the set of keys, staring at them in her palm.

“I don’t think he ever made it into his building,” she said quietly. “These are his too.”

“Someone snatched Joe outside his apartment?” Eddie looked around, surveying the area. “That’s a bold move. It’s quiet now but a couple hours ago people would have still been out.”

“Let’s go inside,” Evelyn said. “Maybe I’m wrong and they got him as he was coming out.”

Rushing up the stairs, they quickly unlocked Joe’s door. There was a small fraction of hope that he was inside, despite all logic. It was dashed the moment they walked in and saw everything as it had been the day before. He wasn’t there, and he definitely hadn’t made it inside.

Flicking on a light, Eddie started searching the nearby desk for anything that would give them a hint.

“Joe put all the evidence I had in his gun safe,” she began, walking over to the bookcase the safe was hidden behind. “So whoever took him clearly wasn’t looking for it, or they would have made him bring them up to get it.”

Eddie glanced at her over his shoulder. “Are you sure they didn’t? Check the safe.”

Pulling the heavy metal out from behind a stack of novels, she fiddled with the lock. “I don’t know the combination.”

“It’s probably his birthday,” Eddie commented.

Her fingers dragged over the dial. “I, uh… I don’t know it.”

Stepping closer, Eddie crouched next to her. “April 19th, 1917.”

Spinning the dial, she counted under her breath. When the latch popped she gasped.

“Eddie, you’re a genius.”

“I just pay attention.”

“Well thank God for that.”

She opened the safe to find all her papers inside—the napkin drawings right on top.

“Hey, Joe was right. You’re pretty good,” Eddie said, picking up one of the sketches.

“Thanks,” she muttered, shuffling through everything. “It’s all here. Even his spare revolver.”

Evelyn tried to take a deep breath, tried to focus. Whoever kidnapped Joe took him before he got into his apartment, didn’t care about anything he might have had, which ruled out a robbery and ruled out someone looking for anything to do with their current Hewitt case.

 _The Seigel case… I did some things that weren’t exactly legal…_ She could hear his voice in her head, over and over.

“I gotta call Ned,” she blurted out, jumping up.

“Ned Stax?”

“He and Joe were in the war together. He’s… I dunno, he works for the mob. A lawyer, I think.”

“I know, he’s Mickey Cohen’s top fixer.”

Rushing to dial the phone, she glanced at Eddie. “Joe told me he… did some things, during the Seigel case.”

Eddie took his hat off, scrubbing his forehead. “I know he bumped off Hecky Nash.”

Evelyn almost dropped the phone. “He… What?”

Wincing, Eddie closed his eyes. “But you didn’t know that… did you.”

“No. I didn’t.” She tightened her grip on the receiver, listening to the rings. “It doesn’t matter. But it might be why—”

A woman answered the phone at the Clover.

“Oh, hey Beth, it’s Evelyn,” she greeted. “Did you happen to see Ned Stax in there tonight? He did? When? Okay great, thank you.” Hanging up, she turned to Eddie. “Ned Stax left Clover around eleven and was heading for one of Mickey’s gambling houses in Hollywood. You know it?”

“Sure do.” Eddie replaced his hat on his head. “They’re gonna love seeing us there.”

“Ned’ll get over it,” she said, going to put away the gun safe. While Eddie’s back was turned she snuck the revolver out and tucked it into the waist of her skirt, hiding it with her blouse.

Her father didn’t raise a naïve girl, her mother didn’t raise a push over, and her brother grew up and taught her how to shoot.

Evelyn was prepared on all fronts.

“Come on,” she told Eddie, heading for the door.

The drive to Hollywood was fast, given the late hour, but there were still plenty of cars parked along the street. Eddie turned the car off, moving to get out.

“You should wait here,” she said, eyeing the house with all the lights on. “A cop in there will only get everyone riled.”

“You’re going in alone?”

“I know Ned, he won’t do anything,” she said, hoping she’d read the man right when they’d met. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, that’s when you come in.”

“A lot can happen in ten minutes.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Getting out of the car, she took a deep breath and adjusted the revolver at her back before making quick strides up the drive to the front door.

The larger gentleman who answered smiled, but it didn’t reach his curious eyes. “Evening.”

“I’m looking for Mr. Stax, is he in?” Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she added, “I’m a friend and it’s a bit of an emergency.”

Deeming her nonthreatening, he nodded and guided her to the back, passed the roulette and craps tables. Knocking on the door, he said, “Mr. Stax, you have a visitor.”

There was a beat of silence before the door swung open, and a mildly disheveled Ned stood before them.

“Miss Conway.” Ned blinked, eyes wide. “This is a surprise. Please, come in.” Glancing to the other man, he said, “Thanks Gil.”

Stepping into the office, Evelyn spotted a blonde woman turned away, refastening her dress. A blush crept up her face as she realized what she’d interrupted.

“Sorry about this,” she said to both of them. “It won’t take long.”

“That’s alright,” the woman said, smiling tersely. “I’ll make my rounds.” She brushed Ned’s arm before slipping out into the main room.

“Can’t say I ever expected to see you here,” Ned told her, wandering over to the wet bar to pour himself a drink. “Joe with you?”

“No, and that’s why I’m here.” Steadying herself, she continued. “I think someone’s kidnapped Joe.”

Ned chuckled, dropping an ice cube into his scotch. “Someone getting the drop on Joe? Doubt it.”

“Maybe if they were motivated enough… Say, someone still sore about what happened to Bugsy Seigel?”

Ned’s expression stiffened, eyeing her like he wasn’t sure he knew how to respond.

She continued, not wanting to give him a chance to formulate a story. “Someone took Joe from outside of his apartment, and they didn’t give a damn about the case he was building against your new boss. Which leaves only one other reason. So who was it, Ned?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her lip curled. “Yes you do. Goddamn it Ned, he’s your friend—”

“And I already helped him out of one mess too many. If I get caught helping a cop—”

“You’re not helping a cop, you’re helping me.”

He laughed coldly. “Sure, like that matters.”

“How many times did he save your life over there, huh? How many bullets were meant for you but missed because of Joe?”

Ned was quiet, sipping his drink as he watched her. “It’s more complicated now. We came home. Things are different.”

“Horse shit,” she snapped. “Joe would do anything to help you. If the tables were turned, he’d be tracking you down himself.”

“Which is why Joe is a better man than me, and why I’m not gonna wind up getting myself killed.”

Anger coursed through her, making her skin prick with heat.

“You’re a coward,” she spat. “I’ll find Joe myself. Good luck being able to look at yourself in the mirror.” She spun on her heel, heading for the door. Just as she’d twisted the knob and swung it open, he called to her.

“Miss Conway, maybe you oughta take a walk to cool off.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s nice by the water. Not the beach though, too many tourists. Maybe try the docks… Watch the boats come in.”

His subtext clicked into place and she stared at Ned a moment. He held her stare and for the briefest moment he looked lost. Sorrowful.

Trapped.

“Have a good night Mr. Stax,” she said, less angry than before.

Leaving him in her wake, she walked straight out the front door and back to Eddie’s car.

Closing her door, she said, “They took Joe to the docks, as far away from the beach as possible, where the boats come in. We gotta hurry. I think I know who has him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from jazz and swing songs on this fic's playlist :)


	21. Hell

Blood welled in Joe’s mouth, but he didn’t have enough time to spit. Another fist landed on the other side of his face, pain and the crunch of bone deafening him in that ear for a few seconds.

“Good to be back, Teague,” Sid chuckled. “Round two.”

Joe’s head lolled to one side, blood and saliva dripping down his front. “That all you got?”

“I’m just getting started,” Sid told him, rolling his sleeves up again. “I’ve got nothing but time, sonny boy. You don’t wanna know the things I can get up to when there’s no rush.”

With one good eye, Joe watched Sid wander over to one side of the room, searching for something. Dolan stood nearby, smoking like a chimney as Joe took a beating.

“Just tell him, Joe,” Dolan whispered. “Tell him and this all ends. It’ll be quick.”

Spitting out a foul mixture, Joe snarled. “Save your breath you piece of shit.”

“Sounds like you two have history,” Sid commented, picking up a length of pipe. “I’d offer a chance to clear the air, but… Really, at this point, it’s all moot.”

Joe had just managed to sit up straight when Sid swung, hitting him in the gut, knocking all the air from his lungs. Doubling over, Joe gasped but it was pointless.

“You motherless scum,” Sid hissed in his ear. “You shot Benny. Say it. You shot him.”

Joe was silent, and the pipe struck him again, that time in the ribs.

“You shot him!”

Sid hit him a third time.

“Say it!”

A fourth.

“You killed Benny!”

A fifth.

Joe was in too much pain to make a noise. He slumped over, would’ve hit the floor if his arms weren’t cuffed. Instead he just hung there, folded over himself, vision diming at the edges.

“C’mon Teague, where’s that fighter’s spirit, huh?” Sid grabbed him by the back of the head, forcing him to look up. “Where’s that caged lion I met before?”

“At home, fucking your mom.” Joe spat blood in Sid’s face and grinned when the man jerked back.

Letting him go, Sid stood up straight and wiped his face. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t done that.”

“Do I look scared to you?”

Sid nodded to Dolan. “Hold him up. I want him to see this coming.”

***

Unfolding the map on the hood of his car, Eddie clicked his flashlight on. “Alright, if what Ned told you is true—”

“It was.”

Rolling his eyes, he continued. “If it was true, then Sid Rothman has Joe in one of these boathouses at the end of this dock here.” He pointed to a cluster on the map.

“I can’t believe you just carry maps of LA around,” Evelyn commented.

“Always better to be prepared,” Eddie deadpanned. “Which is why I still think we should call for back up. More men to cover more ground isn’t a bad idea, especially since we can take a guess what Sid’s doing.”

Evelyn’s stomach churned. She didn’t want to think about the horrible things being done to Joe, but it was too late. Her imagination was very vivid.

 “We have the element of surprise right now,” she told him. “If we get a bunch of cops down here, swarming all over the place, they’ll spook. Kill Joe and run. It’s too risky.”

Sighing, Eddie tilted his head. “Okay, so what do you suggest?”

“We park here,” she said, pointing to a spot on the map. “From there we walk. If I had to guess, I bet he’s in this boathouse here.”

“Why that one?”

“Because it’s still accessible by car and Sid Rothman doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who likes to take long walks. Plus, they’d have an unconscious or struggling Joe with them, and that’s a lot of weight to carry any distance.”

Eddie’s expression changed subtly, and she took that to mean he was impressed.

“Okay, we’ll start there.”

Driving to her suggested spot, they both got out and started up the path to the boating docks. The area was deserted, the only sounds were from waves hitting the piers, and the occasional fish or frog splashing in the shallow waters. Evelyn had always liked the ocean, but at night it was eerie. One wrong step and a person could be tumbling head first into murky waters.

 Spotting the boathouse up ahead, Eddie gestured for her to stop.

“I’ll go,” he whispered. “Stay here and wait. If you hear gunshots, run back to the car and stay there.”

“I can’t just wait here, they’ve got Joe.”

Eddie pegged her with a glare that was mostly shadow. “And if something happens to you, Joe will never forgive me. Hell, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“I’m a romantic,” Eddie said, voice flat. It was comical.

Evelyn still wanted to argue, but Eddie shushed her and then was making his way silently up to the boathouse.

She watched him peek through a narrow window before crouching down and slipping around the corner out of sight, gun drawn.

There, surrounded by night and salt air, the panic started.

What if she was too late? What if Sid Rothman had already killed Joe? Dumped his body off one of these piers, to never be found again.

What if Joe died without knowing she loved him?

Evelyn trembled where she stood, hidden in the shadow of another boathouse.

She might never see Joe alive again…

Her father had loved to tell the story of when he knew he loved her mother. They’d been on their way home from a concert, when her mother had wandered too far out into the street and into the path of a trolley car. And as her father put it, _“I had a second to decide. And in that second, I knew. I knew I would do anything to save her, and if I couldn’t, at least I would be with her when we died.”_

He’d been dramatic in the telling, as her mother would always point out. According to her, they had plenty of time. But to little Evelyn, the image was too potent. Too visceral. And her father’s words never ceased to ring true.

Evelyn had always been told she was a lot like her father…

Glancing around, she stepped away from her hiding spot and hurried to the boathouse, careful not to make any noise. Eddie would be on the other side, probably waiting for the right moment to burst in. But she couldn’t wait for that.

From where she stood, she could just make out the back door that had been left open a crack. Peeking quickly in the window, she saw two men standing but the glass was too filthy to see who they were. Neither of them were built like Joe, however.

A stack of crates and fishing traps in the shadows would make for decent cover if she could slip through the door quietly.

Making her way over, the sounds of grunting and heavy thudding had her holding her breath.

“Talk you piece of shit,” Sid yelled.

Another thud and a faint cry.

 _Joe,_ she thought, hand flying to her mouth. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she swallowed them down. She didn’t have time to weep.

Gathering her wits, she waited for the next round of beatings before pulling open the door a few inches and hurrying inside. No one noticed the creak of the door hinge over the sound of Joe taking a metal pipe to the ribs.

“You start talking, or I start testing this thing on your skull.”

Evelyn crouched behind the crates and wire traps, helpless but to listen.

“G’head,” Joe muttered, spitting. “At least then I wouldn’t have to listen to you like a broken record.”

 _Jesus Joe, don’t be an idiot,_ she thought, scowling.

Sid chuckled darkly, paced a few steps, before saying, “Might wanna reconsider your attitude, pally. See, a little birdy told me you’ve got a new pair of legs keeping your sheets warm.”

Joe’s labored breathing slowed.

“Yeah, we know about your new girlfriend. But I’m willing to be generous…” Sid stepped closer, and she heard him crouch near Joe. “Tell me what you did, and I’ll leave the girl alone.”

Joe grunted, in anger and in pain. “I tell you and she’s dead too. No way.”

“I’m a man of my word, Teague. Not a lot of men can say that. Hecky Nash couldn’t. Remember him?”

_Don’t do it, Joe. It’s a bluff._

“Lotta people wound up dead cuz of you. Some by your own hand. Don’t make that mistake with your girl.”

“Go to hell.”

Evelyn winced at how raw his voice was, how broken. But she was proud of him.

The steel pipe came down on Joe’s torso, and he cried out in agony. It happened again, and Evelyn had to cover her mouth to keep from gasping.

“Maybe I oughta send one of my guys out to pick her up, huh?” Sid yelled over the noise of hitting Joe. “Bring her back here. We’ll see how fast you talk when I’ve got my hands wrapped around her throat.”

A fist landed on Joe’s face and he groaned.

The other man who had been silent until now, stepped closer to the faint light and Evelyn could barely make him out.

“We talked about this Joe…”

 _Dolan?_ Realization nauseated her. Pat Dolan was working with Sid Rothman and Mickey Cohen. He’d betrayed his entire squad.

“Play nice, remember?” Dolan lit a cigarette. “No body else has to get hurt.”

Sid pummeled Joe in the ribs again and Joe yelled.

“You don’t fucking touch her, you hear me?” Joe’s voice was nearly inhuman. “She has nothing to do with any of this. It was me, alright? I did it.”

“Did what?” Sid asked.

Joe spat again before saying, “I shot Bugsy. That what you wanna hear? I killed him. And I’d kill him again too.”

Evelyn bit back the noise trying to claw its way up her throat. Bile stung her esophagus as she listened.

Joe had killed Hecky Nash, and then Ben Seigel.

“You touch her… You touch her, and I swear I’ll kill you both,” Joe growled, struggling against the pipe he was cuffed too. “I will hunt you down and end you. You understand me?”

Inhaling deeply, Evelyn closed her eyes. Too much was happening, she was feeling too much… It was overwhelming her, distracting her.

 _Keep it together, Evelyn,_ she told herself. _Now think._

Eddie was waiting outside, probably listening to the same conversation she heard, but waiting for an opportunity. He needed to get in, needed to catch Sid and Dolan both.

They were seconds from killing Joe. He’d given Sid what he wanted. He’d admitted to killing Seigel.

A distraction. Eddie needed a distraction…

Looking up at the stack of traps, Evelyn didn’t think about it. She just reached up and yanked one down, the loud clatter making everyone jump.

“What the hell was that?” Sid yelled. “Go see!”

Dolan rushed over as she was standing, catching her as she tried to bolt.

“Stupid thing coming here,” he told her, whispering harshly in her ear.

Gripping her by the arm, Dolan hauled her into the light.

“Look who decided to stop by,” Dolan announced.

As they came around the side, Evelyn saw Joe for the first time and gasped. He was bloodied all over, bashed in and weak looking. One eye was swollen shut and his face was caked in blood and snot.

“Evelyn?” Joe whispered with bruised lips. “No…”

Blinking away tears, she held his gaze for as long as she could until Sid stepped between them.

“So this is the girl, huh?” He eyed her up and down. “I remember you. You’re a picture girl at Clover.”

“ _Temporary_ picture girl,” she corrected snidely.

“Oh I’ll say,” Sid agreed with a nod. “Just wait until Mickey hears about one of his hostesses banging a cop. Sure he’ll take real kindly to that.”

“You and Mickey both can go to hell,” she snapped. Glaring over at Dolan, she added, “You too for that matter.”

Dolan shook his head. “Big mistake you just made.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Sid stepped closer, hand lifting to brush a lock of hair from her forehead. She cringed away from him, lip curling at the blood all over his knuckles.

Joe’s blood.

“She’s pretty, Teague. You’ve got taste, I’ll give ya that.”

Joe struggled against the cuffs, yanking so hard Evelyn was certain he’d dislocate his shoulder. “Don’t touch her, you hear me? She’s got nothing to do with this. You let her go.”

“Sure, I’ll let her go…” Sid smiled at her and she felt sick. “Just after she sees what you’ve got coming to you.”

Moving away from her, Sid reached into his holster, and then everything happened in a blur.

Sid aimed at Joe, and Evelyn brought her foot down on Dolan’s. He made enough noise it distracted Sid, and that gave her the second and a half she needed to reach into the waist of her skirt and pull Joe’s revolver free.

Dolan reared back but she managed to free herself from his hold and swing a solid left hook straight to the jaw.

The first gun shot was deafening.

The second and third weren’t as jarring.

The fourth just seemed necessary.

Evelyn strode forward, towering over a fallen Sid. Blood, his own that time, seeped from his wounds, staining his white dress shirt.

Sid crumpled, gasping for air that couldn’t fill punctured lungs. He still had some fight in him though, as he struggled to reach for his own weapon.

Evelyn emptied the revolver into his chest.

The last bullet caught him in the neck, and a fine spray of crimson landed on the sleeves of her blouse.

Sid Rothman—Mickey Cohen’s right hand—was dead.

A commotion behind her brought her head around, and she saw Eddie pinning Dolan to the ground outside. The bastard had tried to run.

Time sped up and Evelyn blinked.

“Joe?” She whispered. Clearing her throat, she turned, “Joe?” she called, a little more frantic.

“Evelyn…” His voice was rough and broken but he was alive.

Running to him, she knelt down, careful not to grab him too firmly.

“Oh God, Joe…” She whispered, taking in his injuries up close.

“It’s okay,” he said, not quite meeting her gaze.

With gentle hands, she cupped his jaw and lifted his face towards hers. For a moment she just stared at him, too many emotions crashing inside her to be able to speak.

“You… you heard…” He started, voice cracking.

“Yeah… Yeah, Joe. I heard.”

His nod was jerky and uneven, and he tried to pull out of her hold, but she wouldn’t let him.

“I’m just glad you’re alive,” she told him, one tear escaping over her lashes and down her cheek.

Eddie dragged a mouthy Dolan back into the boathouse, cuffed and bleeding from a split lip.

“Shut up and sit there,” Eddie ordered, shoving Dolan onto his knees.

“Eddie, I need keys,” Evelyn called, moving behind Joe.

Fishing them out of Dolan’s pocket, Eddie tossed them to her.

She made quick and gentle work of uncuffing Joe, catching him as he started to slump to one side.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” she said.

“Nah, I’m alright, I’m fine.” Joe tried to wave her off but didn’t have the coordination.

“You just spent two hours getting bludgeoned by a steel pipe,” Eddie said. “I think a doctor needs to tell us if you’re alright.”

Joe cocked his head, looking between them. “How’d you find me?”

Evelyn smiled, despite herself. “Teamwork. We’ll tell you the specifics later.”

Slowly, she helped Joe to his feet, holding him steady.

“We still have a problem,” Eddie told them. “Several actually. The first being…” He turned, staring at Sid Rothman’s dead body. “This.”

“Call Hal, and the guys,” Evelyn said. “Tell them it was self-defense and defense of another. No way Parker is gonna have me hauled into court over Sid Rothman.”

 “If word gets out you killed Sid—”

“Mickey Cohen will put a hit out on you,” Joe said with a sandpaper voice. “You’ll be good as dead before the coroner’s report is finished.”

Evelyn gaped. “What do we do? We can’t just leave him to be found. I used Joe’s gun.”

“You what?” Joe looked at her.

“I got it out of your safe, Eddie told me your birthday.”

Joe shook his head. “This is giving me a headache. Well, another one.”

Eddie glared at Dolan, who sat silent and stunned on the floor. “I almost wish you’d given me an excuse to shoot you. Then we wouldn’t have a witness.”

Making sure Joe was steady on his feet, Evelyn walked over to Eddie. “I think I have an idea,” she said, looking down at Dolan. “You’re going to admit to kidnapping Joe—”

“Hey, look,” Dolan started.

“Shut up, you weasel, or I’ll make you wish I’d saved a bullet for you,” Evelyn snapped, pointing at him. “Now listen up. You’re going to admit to Hal and Parker you kidnapped Joe. You’re going to tell them you’d heard he had money stashed somewhere, and since you have a gambling problem, you needed the cash.”

Joe focused his good eye on her. “How’d you know?”

“Saw a lot of red marks in the racing section of his morning paper,” Evelyn said. “And horses are a risky gamble. Expensive too.” Looking to Dolan, she smirked. “Isn’t it?”

Dolan nodded once, before hanging his head.

“You tell them that, you make them believe it, and we keep quiet about how you were Mickey Cohen’s pet cop.” Evelyn glared at him. “It’s either that, or you get put on the front page of every paper as another corrupt detective in the mob’s pocket and see how long you last in federal prison. Inmates don’t like cops, and Mickey Cohen doesn’t like squealers. Wanna bet who gets your first?”

Eddie leaned back to look at Joe. “She’s good.”

Joe nodded. “I know.”

After considering his options, Dolan yielded. “Alright. Alright, I’ll tell ‘em what you want.”

Eddie stooped and grabbed Dolan by the arm, hoisting him onto his feet. “I’m gonna put him in the back of the car and then drive up. I’ll radio for Hal and the others. Joe, how you holding up?”

“I’ll make it.”

Looking at Evelyn, Eddie said, “That should take me about eight minutes total. And another ten for Hal to get here. That’s eighteen minutes to make our mess disappear.” His gaze darted over to Sid’s body meaningfully.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Go.”

Eddie and Dolan were out the door before she turned towards Joe.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Haven’t keeled over yet,” he mumbled, parts of his face starting to swell more.

Looking around them, she said, “You don’t see anything heavy, do you? We’re gonna need it.”

***

It took ten minutes to carry Sid’s body to the end of the nearest dock—Joe insisted on helping, despite the fact he couldn’t use his left arm. Evelyn did most of the lifting, and was thankful Sid was a slight man.

It took another five minutes to gather up rope, chains, and a few weights and small boat anchors. Tying them all to Sid’s ankles and neck, Evelyn double checked her knots with Joe’s guidance, and then they both rolled him off the end of the dock into the brackish water.

The splash was morbidly satisfying.

So was standing at the edge, watching his body sink into the depths.

Two minutes to spare.

Evelyn could hear the police car sirens in the distance.

“Hey Joe?” She lifted her gaze from the rippling water to Joe’s bruised and bloody face.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He squinted like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her properly, but then…

The corner of his bloodied mouth lifted, and he faced her.

“I love you too.”

Joe Teague would not die without knowing Evelyn Conway loved him.

And now she knew…

Joe Teague loved her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from swing and jazz songs on this fic's playlist :)


	22. Until the Real Thing Comes Along

“Hey, what are you—”

“Would you please stop that, I’m fine.”

Evelyn gripped Joe’s shoulder tight. “The doctor said—”

“I know what the doctor said, I don’t need to wheel myself to the bathroom. I can walk, Evey.”

“You’re not supposed to strain yourself.”

Joe grumbled, getting out of his wheelchair. “If I strain myself takin’ a leak, we’re gonna have more to worry about than that wheelchair.”

“You’re possibly the worst patient on the west coast, Joseph Teague.” Evelyn swatted at him with her newspaper.

“Shoulda seen me when they shipped me back to base,” he called, halfway to the bathroom. “I was a real pain in the ass.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she muttered under her breath.

The reality was Evelyn was thankful Joe was even alive to begin with, so he could be as big of a pain in the ass as he wanted, she wouldn’t care.

Not that she’d tell him that of course.

The overnight stay at the hospital to watch for internal bleeding had gone smoothly, mostly because Joe was doped up on morphine and slept most of the time. Coming home with detailed instructions on how to care for his cracked ribs, bruised spleen, and multitudes of stitches however had ruffled his feathers.

“Do they think I’ve never gotten stitches before?” Joe had grumbled, picking at the tape and gauze on his head. “I can take care of myself. What is all this?”

Then the nurse had brought in the wheelchair he was supposed to be in for the next week and Joe had nearly blown a gasket.

“Do I look like an invalid to you?” He’d shaken his head, telling them all no, he wouldn’t use it, and Evelyn had spent ten minutes bickering with him by the discharge station before he yielded.

She was pretty sure the only reason he did was his dose of pain killers was kicking in.

Two days later and he was still grouchy. But at least he didn’t look as bad. His bruises weren’t as dark, and the cut on his nose was healing up. His eye was open and undamaged as far as the doctor could tell. In a few weeks he’d be back to normal.

Shuffling back into the living room, Joe sat on the sofa next to her instead of his borrowed wheelchair.

“Joe…”

“Shh, c’mere,” he murmured, tugging her close.

Sighing, she said, “I’ll hurt you—”

“Stop that, no you won’t.”

Relenting, she turned and laid her head in his lap, careful not to put too much weight on the big swatch of bruises she knew he had on his stomach.

“Want me to read to you?”

Running his fingers through her hair, he nodded. “Hm mhm.”

Lifting her paper, she found a piece she hadn’t read yet and started. It was one of his favorite things, having her in his lap, reading out loud or talking, while he played with her hair.

As she read he’d interject with comments or a clarifying question—the morphine made his thoughts a little foggy, but he did his best to follow along.

She was halfway through the third article when she noticed he wasn’t making any noises, and she looked up to see him snoozing quietly, chin tucked into his chest.

Evelyn smiled and kept reading out loud. He always slept better if he could hear her.

 _Could get used to this,_ she thought, glancing up at him.

When the snoring started, she had to wake him though.

A girl could only take so much.

***

Joe had never been so happy to go back to work. The doctor had cleared him, Hal and Parker had agreed to let him back as long as he kept the foot pursuits to a minimum, and he promised Evelyn he’d take it easy.

Besides, nothing like a week away from the office to stack up paperwork a mile high. He wasn’t going to be away from his desk much.

He’d even found a bottle of bourbon with a ribbon tied around it in his desk drawer when he got in that morning. The note said, “I’m adding that last save to your tab. You can start paying me by sharing a glass of this.”

Joe smiled. Good old Eddie.

People stopped by to congratulate him on coming back, to playfully tease him about how a few more scars on a mug like his won’t even be noticeable, and Nick even commented, “You broke your nose? Huh, couldn’t tell. You look the same to me.”

The squad had laughed, Joe laughed the loudest, despite his ribs aching. It really was good to be back. And back in everyone’s good graces.

Mike was sullen though, but Hal whispered to Joe it wasn’t him, it was everything with Dolan. Mike had been his partner, he felt partially responsible. Like he should have known.

Even after all the shit with the Seigel case and Mike’s bad attitude from the start, Joe still felt for the guy. He made it a point to greet Mike directly and shake his hand. It wasn’t his fault Dolan went off the rails.

After a week of normalcy, of paperwork and going home to see whatever disaster Evelyn had made in his kitchen, Joe was starting to think things were going to work out just fine.

He should have known better.

Walking into the station the next Monday morning, Nick and Eddie nearly bowled him over on their way out.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he asked, turning.

Nick fumbled with his jacket as he said, “Sid Rothman’s body washed up on the beach. They’re saying it looks like a hit.”

Joe’s heart stopped. His eyes darted to Eddie, who looked graver than ever.

“We’ll fill you in when we get back,” Nick said, already walking away.

Joe forced air into his lungs. Taking half a step forward, he mumbled, “Ed…?”

“I know. I’ve got it covered.” Eddie placed his hat on his head, tugging it down. “Trust me.”

For the next three hours Joe felt like he was going to throw up. The only thing keeping him from doing it was fear of popping a stitch.

When the rest of the squad came back, he practically jumped up from behind his desk. Finding Eddie by the coffee maker, he waited until the hall was clear before going over.

“Ed?”

“It’s under control, Joe,” Eddie told him, not looking up from his cup of coffee he was stirring.

“What does that mean? Eddie, they’re gonna find out--”

Eddie faced him, cutting him off. “You’ve seen floaters before, right Joe?”

Joe blinked. “Huh? Yeah, of course, what’s that—”

“So you’ve seen what happens to a body when it’s been under water for over two weeks? What the marine life does?”

He was quickly piecing things together. “Yeah…”

“Lemme tell you something,” Eddie started, taking a sip from his coffee. “How Sid Rothman looked when he went in… was not how he looked when he came out. I won’t get graphic on you, but let’s just say, the lab boys are gonna have a hard time finding much evidence to convict _anyone._ Disappointing for the District Attorney, but probably good news for anyone else.”

The knot in Joe’s chest lessened.

“So… _Whoever_ did the job…”

Eddie sipped his coffee. “My guess? Home free.”

Joe exhaled roughly, chin dropping to his chest. “Good. That’s… That’s good.”

“Told you, Joe,” Eddie said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I got it covered.”

***

Returning to Bunny’s for work was like coming home after a stressful trip. Evelyn could breathe again. She knew how to operate at Bunny’s, knew the patrons, knew how things were supposed to be. Not to mention she didn’t have to look over her shoulder at every turn.

She definitely preferred Anya’s company to Mickey Cohen’s.

As a few of the early evening customers filed in, she set about polishing a couple glasses. Turning to check she had enough martini glasses, she heard someone pull out a barstool behind her.

“Scotch rocks, doll?”

Evelyn halted, recognizing the voice. _Ned…_

Pulling out a bottle of scotch and a glass, she faced him. “Didn’t expect to see you in here.”

Ned smiled tightly, placing a cigarette between his lips. “Had some time before my next meeting.”

“At the Clover?”

“At the police station.”

Sliding the drink in front of him, she stopped. “That doesn’t sound like a social call.”

“It’s not,” he said, dropping his used match in the ashtray. Locking eyes with her he said, “Sid Rothman’s body washed up on the beach this morning.”

Evelyn felt the color drain from her face. And by Ned’s expression, he noticed.

“From what I’ve been told, they won’t be able to find out who did it. But that’s not gonna stop Mickey Cohen.”

“Mickey?”

Leaning forward, Ned sipped his drink. “He’s on the war path. First Ben and now Sid? He’s not going to stop until he has his ten pounds of flesh.”

Straightening her spine, Evelyn stared at him. “If the cops can’t find who did it, what makes Mickey Cohen think he can?”

“You met the guy. Does he strike you as someone who cares about irrefutable evidence?”

He had a point. A very good point.

That point was beginning to feel like a knife at Evelyn’s throat.

“How long do you think it’s gonna take Mickey to put the pieces together? He already knew Sid suspected Joe for what happened to Ben. And Mickey took a shine to you while you were at Clover, he’ll recognize you if he sees you out. How long until he or one of his guys sees you with Joe? Mickey might not be the brightest bulb, but he’d put that puzzle together in the dark.”

Dread filled her stomach like rocks. Days, they had a matter of days… if that.

“Why are you telling me this, Ned?”

Finishing his drink, he took a long drag from his cigarette. “Because despite what you think of me, I do care. And I see what you’ve given Joe.”

“What’s that?”

Ned smiled softly. “His life back. You’ve given him some peace.” Putting his cigarette out, he stood up. “Joe’s already lost one love to this mob war. I don’t want you to be the second.”

Tossing a hundred-dollar bill down, he said, “Keep the change.”

“Ned?” She called before he got too far away. “What do we do?”

Regarding her a moment, Ned smiled. “You stick together. And you don’t look back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from jazz and swing songs on this fic's playlist :)


	23. I Can't Believe That You're In Love With Me

When Joe came home, she’d already been rehearsing what to tell him. Everything Ned told her, how it made sense, how they needed to get out ahead of this.

She’d already pulled her suitcases down from the top shelf in her closet.

Seeing his face, she knew he’d been thinking too.

“Eddie’s got us covered,” Joe told her after she said her piece. He’d been surprisingly patient as she rushed through her words. “He told me himself there’s no way they’d be able to take any evidence to court.”

“Mickey Cohen doesn’t give a shit about evidence,” she said. “It’s only a matter of time, Joe.” Swallowing, she held his gaze. “I can’t let you get hurt because of this. If Mickey sees us together…”

Joe frowned. “I can protect you, keep us both safe.”

“We’d be looking over our shoulders day and night. We’d never have any peace. And it would only buy us a few days, maybe a few weeks, before this place gets torn up in a hail of bullets.”

“I wouldn’t let him get to you,” Joe said, stubbornly shaking his head. “And Parker says they’ve got a sturdy case against Mickey, he’ll be going away once they get the final touches—”

“Don’t you hear yourself, Joe?” She stepped closer. “You’re betting everything on black and we don’t have that luxury. One way or another, Mickey Cohen is going to get me, get us.”

Joe’s stare shifted passed her shoulder and she knew he spotted the suitcases open on her bed.

“So that’s it, huh…” He said, voice turned to gravel. “After everything…”

Evelyn blinked away tears. “I know how hard you tried. You fought for this life. But Joe… It’s never going to be the same.”

He looked away from her, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

“I’m not saying you’ll love where we go next as much as LA. I know this has been your home for so long, but there are other amazing places to live too.”

Joe froze in place, gaping at her. “What?”

“It’ll be a chance to start fresh. LA is filled with ghosts anyway, for both of us—”

“Wait, what did you say?”

She frowned at him. “Which part?”

“You…” He swallowed. “You said ‘we’.”

Evelyn shook her head, still not sure what he meant.

“You said… Where _we_ go next.” Joe moved closer, eyes pleading. “We?”

“I mean… I know it was a little presumptuous,” she started, fidgeting with her left ring finger. “But—”

“You’re not leaving me?”

She blinked owlishly at him. “What?” When she saw relief flooding his face, her heart broke. “Oh God, no, Joe…” Going to him, she gripped his arms. “I never meant—I wasn’t—Of course I’m not. I was talking about _us_. _Together_. Did you think I was just going to blow town without you?”

He didn’t speak, but there was a glassy look in his dark eyes and she felt like the biggest idiot on the planet.

“Joe, I couldn’t leave you,” she told him, kissing his face. “It’s you and me now. We’re in this together.”

Clutching her around the waist, he hauled her into the fiercest hug imaginable. She knew it must’ve hurt his ribs, but he didn’t make a sound.

“Next time,” he murmured into her hair. “Lead with that.”

“Sorry,” she said, voice muffled by his chest.

Leaning back, he cupped her face, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe.

“Where?” He asked when he finally pulled away.

“Huh?”

Grinning, he kissed her again. “Where are we going?”

“Oh,” she laughed. “Uh, well… I’ve never been to New Orleans. But I hear it’s a fun city.”

“And hot.”

“LA’s hot too.”

“And swampy.”

“You could learn to hunt gators.”

He furrowed his brow at her. “You plan on learning to cook gator?”

“I could give it a whirl.”

“New Orleans is busy…”

She nodded. “With a horrible crime rate.”

“That’s a plus for you?”

“It’s a plus for a decorated homicide detective looking for work.”

Joe grinned. “Probably means they have a few newspapers too. Ones with crime beats looking for fresh reporters.”

“I have missed the life…”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

Evelyn swatted his arm gently. “If it weren’t for my inherent need to investigate, we’d have never met.”

“Hm.” He reached up, cupping the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. “I don’t like that idea one bit.”

“Me either.” Circling her arms around him, she smiled. “So what do you say, Teague? In the mood for Cajun?”

“I go where you go.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of this story. However the fluffiest farewell epilogue is going to be posted, so please stay tuned. Thank you all for reading, I truly can't verbalize how much it means to me. Thank you for letting me give dear old Joe a proper send off. And who knows, there might be more in store for Joe and Evelyn after all... ;)


	24. Epilogue: All of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue titles are all from Post Modern Jukebox songs (definitely look them up, they're amazing).

_June 1948_

Joe tugged at his button down, trying to get some relief from the sticky heat. Even at dusk, it was hotter than hell.

Walking up the drive, he waved to their neighbor, the elderly Mrs. Crabtree, as she watered her tomato plants.

“Evenin’ Detective,” she called. “Y’all want any of these maters? I got plenty.”

Propping open the screen door with his foot, Joe fished out his keys. “Yes, ma’am. Evelyn’s been teaching herself to make tomato sauce.”

Mrs. Crabtree glanced down at the plant in front of her. “Hm, I better pick y’all double the amount then…”

Joe chuckled, ducking his head. Mrs. Crabtree had found out very quickly Evelyn’s culinary skills were still a work in progress.

Unlocking the front door, he could already hear the jazz record playing inside, and grinned.

“Evey?” He called from the entryway, hanging his jacket and hat up. He started to slide his holster off but stopped. He’d let her get a peek before he took it off.

“In here!”

It had been an adjustment, going from a tiny apartment to a two-bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. The first week he felt overwhelmed with having so much space, and so much of it empty—they’d moved with just their clothes and mementos, and Evelyn’s ever-increasing amount of books. But soon they found pieces to make a home with. She did most of the decorating—she had an eye for color—but when he’d found the perfect leather club chair, she yielded, despite the fact it didn’t go with anything else they had.

Dropping his keys on the end table, he wound his way through the living room, passed his favorite leather chair, and into the dinning room. They were still figuring that room out as they mostly ate in the kitchen or on the back porch on cool nights. For now, it was filled with boxes, spare picture frames, and a chair Evelyn had found and was convinced she could reupholster herself. Joe kept quiet on that one.

Stepping into the kitchen, he smiled at the sight of her swaying to Billie Holiday on the gramophone. Floral print dress and her black curls swept up off her neck and tied with a bandana—something she’d taken to doing to help keep cool while she cooked—she was beautiful as always.

“Hey, look at that, you managed to keep most of the mess on the counter this time.”

“Don’t make me smack you, Teague,” she tossed over her shoulder, but there was no heat in her words. “I’m learning. Messes are to be expected when you’re learning.”

“Speaking of, Mrs. Crabtree has tomatoes for you.”

“I swear, with her as a neighbor I’ll never have to go to the market again.”

Joe crossed the kitchen, avoiding the puddle of what looked like olive oil on the floor, and leaned down, brushing his lips over the back of her neck.

“Hi,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “How was work?”

“Good,” he said, kissing a trail up to her ear. “Glad to be home though.”

“Let me guess…” She turned, hand on his stomach. “’Cause the fight’s on soon?”

“Yep.”

“Knew it.”

Joe chuckled, kissing her fully. “And because I missed you.”

“Uh huh, sure…” She teased.

His response was to circle his arms around her waist and pepper her face with kisses until she laughed, big and bright.

“You’re gonna make me burn the shrimp,” she told him, trying to pull away, but still giggling.

“So that’s what that is,” he said, looking over her shoulder. “Couldn’t tell what they were.”

“You’ve had shrimp before.”

“Not like… that.”

She smirked, turning to poke at them with her spatula. “They’re jumbo and I’m doing them Cajun style this time.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I think it means we’re gonna be sweating through dinner,” she said. “This recipe called for a lot of spice…”

Joe stepped back to grab a beer from the fridge. “Been sweatin’ all day, why stop now.”

“N’awlins baby,” she said, grinning and waving her hands at her sides. It always made him laugh when she did it.

“Oh, Jim Bob and his wife invited us over for supper Friday night,” Joe said, sitting in the chair nearest to her.

“It’s not a church thing is it?” Evelyn asked, scrunching her nose. “I still haven’t found the right time to tell them I’m half Jewish.”

Swigging his beer, Joe shook his head. “Jim Bob isn’t the church one. That’s Bobby Jo.”

“I thought Bobby Jo owned the pharmacy.”

“That’s Billy Jay.”

Sighing, Evelyn hung her head. “People in this town need to pick different initials for their sons.”

Joe laughed, stretching his legs out until the toe of his shoe was against her ankle, tracing aimless patterns. He liked sharing space with her—they didn’t even have to talk, or look at each other, but being in the same room always settled something deep in his bones.

“Did you tell them we’ll go?”

“Huh? Oh, I said I’d ask you. I didn’t know if you had something else planned.”

He caught the rise of her cheek as she smiled. “Oh yes, because I’m so busy playing house wife.”

“I never know what you’ve got up your sleeve. Last Friday you were dragging me into the city hopping from jazz club to jazz club.”

Evelyn smirked over her shoulder. “That’s just ‘cause I wanted gin.” Winking, she added, “I also remember you enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoyed coming home and getting you out of that dress.”

“I enjoyed that too.”

Standing, Joe left his beer on the table and closed the distance, hands going straight to her hips. “Could enjoy that again…” He murmured, kissing her neck. “Did I tell you how good you look right now?”

Pressing back into his hands, she grinned. “No, but you can tell me now.”

“Or…” He let his hands travel upwards. “I could show you.”

Evelyn had just leaned back against his chest when there was a knock at their back door, jarring them both.

“Hold that thought,” Joe told her, giving her ass a quick slap as he walked by.

“Tease,” she muttered, stirring the shrimp in the pan.

Swinging open the screen door, Joe propped it with his shoulder. “Hey Seth.”

“Hey Joey! How’s y’all doin’ t’night?” Seth’s thick Cajun accent had taken a while to get used to, but Joe was pleased he could at least catch eighty percent of what he said now.

“Not bad, Seth, you?”

“Good, good, can’t c’mplain y’know.” Seth took his hat off to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Your missus tol’ me she had sumpin for me t’look’it.”

“She…” Joe cocked his head. “Evelyn?”

Appearing in the doorway, Evelyn smiled. “Oh, hey Seth, yeah it’s the siding on that end of the house,” she said, gesturing. “I tried nailing it back, but it looks warped.”

Joe furrowed his brow at her. She hadn’t told him the siding needed repair.

Seth backed up a pace to look and nodded. “Oh, yissma’am, I’ll get on it now.”

“You don’t have to tonight if you’re busy—”

“N’ma’am, ain’t got nuttin’ but time,” he told her. “I’ll git y’sorted. Gimme a few minutes, ‘scuse the bangin’ alright?”

“No problem, Seth, thank you.”

Seth wandered back over to his house behind theirs for his tools, and Joe shut the screen door.

“The siding is warped?” Joe asked, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“I saw it this morning when I was touching up the paint on the shutters,” she said. “I left a message on Seth’s door asking if he’d take a look.”

“I could’ve fixed that,” Joe told her, reaching for his beer.

Evelyn turned the heat down on the stove. “I know, but Seth likes to keep busy, and if he’s not fixing something then he’s bored and chatting my ear off and I only just got to where I can understand him, so…”

Kissing her temple, Joe grinned into her hair. “That’s ‘cause he’s got a crush on you.”

Evelyn laughed out of shock. “He does not!”

“Yes he does, trust me. I know the look.”

“You need your eyes checked.”

“He’s wrapped around your finger.”

She scoffed. “Well he can unwrap himself then for all I care. The man does not have a crush on me.”

Joe gave her hip a gentle squeeze. “At least he’s respectful about it.”

“Stop it, Joe. Besides,” she said, turning to face him. “To him, I’m taken.” She held up her left hand for emphasis.

The plain gold band caught the light and Joe stared for a moment.

It had been Evelyn’s idea. A married couple moving into a house together wouldn’t have aroused any suspicion, from the neighbors or the bank when they applied for a loan. And she didn’t mind being called Mrs. Teague at dinner parties or by the neighbors. Joe still teased her by calling her Miss Conway, but that was usually during _other_ activities.

To the world, they were Mr. and Mrs. Teague.

The pawnshop rings had been a last-minute purchase just outside Tulsa, when she’d concocted the plan over breakfast. They’d paid for their diner eggs and coffee and strolled across the street to pick them out.

Unassuming, respectable, plain. Those were the words she’d used when she found the set.

Joe had wanted to give her more, give her something to show off. But that wasn’t the plan.

“Joe?”

“Hm?”

Evelyn stared up at him. “I was just teasing, Joe,” she said. “You looked…”

Shaking his head, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “No, no, it wasn’t… You didn’t say anything wrong.”

Loud hammering interrupted his thoughts and Joe forced a smile. “Seth’s back.”

“At least our siding will look nice.”

“Sure, sure.”

While she put the finishing touches on dinner, Joe wandered into the bedroom to change out of his sweat-soaked button down.

He kept eyeing his sock drawer, wondering…

If it had just been a plan, a cover, why did Evelyn take to it with such gusto? Why did she seem content, even behind closed doors? He’d expected her to play the part, like they had back in LA when their lives depended on it. But here, where no one knew them, or knew their story she never seemed unhappy with the arrangement when people weren’t watching. She never groused about wanting her own space, or wishing she had a secret apartment to go to when he was being too much.

She’d even stopped mentioning his snoring.

But it had only been a few months. There was still time for her to grow weary of him.

Unless…

His gaze drifted to his sock drawer again.

_I go where you go._

He guessed the only way to know was to ask.

Walking back to the kitchen, he felt vaguely queasy, but he figured that was normal.

Hearing him, Evelyn turned. “Okay, dinner is almost ready. The shrimp look fine, but the rice might be a little burned on the bottom…”

Joe smiled, watching her get plates from the cabinet.

Now or never, he supposed.

Walking over to her, he took her hand, pulling her to a halt.

“Joe?”

“I love you,” he said, thumb running over her knuckles.

She grinned. “Just remember that when you eat the shrimp, okay, ‘cause I’m worried I put in too much cayenne…”

Yep. Now or never.

“What do you say we make this charade the real deal, huh?”

Evelyn stared up at him. “What do you mean?”

Fishing the small wooden box out of his pocket, he let go of her hand briefly to open it.

“Miss Conway,” he started. “Would you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Teague… For real this time?”

It wasn’t much—not as much as he’d wanted to give her—but she stared at the simple square cut diamond ring like it was the most precious thing she’d ever seen.

“Joe…” She whispered. “Are you… You’re sure?”

He chuckled deep in his throat. “Of course I am. Are you?”

Nodding, Evelyn started to reach for the ring. “Yes. Yes, of course.” Glancing up at him, she added, “Can’t believe it took you this long to ask.”

Joe rolled his eyes, pulling the ring out of its slot. “Forgive me for wanting to air on the side of caution.”

“Since when have we ever been cautious?”

“Fair point.” Taking her hand again, he wriggled the fake wedding band off before sliding the real engagement ring on. It fit her perfectly.

Evelyn’s smile could’ve lit up all of New Orleans.

“I’m gonna be Mrs. Teague,” she said, holding her hand up. “For real.”

Joe wrapped his hands around her face, tugging her into a deep kiss that had them both stumbling a little. Hearing her giggle against him was the best sound in the world.

They ate painfully spicy shrimp while listening to Seth banging their siding back into place, and never once did their smiles fall.

A week later, in a quiet court house a parish over, Evelyn Conway became Mrs. Teague.

For real that time.


	25. Epilogue: Perfect Duet

_December 1949_

“Evey, did you say to add cinnamon to this?” Joe called to the bathroom from where he stood in the kitchen, checking their Christmas Eve dinner.

Her muffled voice called back, “Salt, not cinnamon!”

“Oh.” He stirred the broth around in the roasting dish. “That would’ve been disastrous.”

Tasting a few of the other dishes, he adjusted the seasonings on a couple and turned the heat down. Glancing over his shoulder, he frowned in the direction of their hall bath. Evelyn was taking a while, and he worried she was getting sick.

Leaving the stove, he wandered out, just about to knock when the door swung open.

“Hey,” he said, tilting his head. “You alright?”

Her smile was tight as she tried to brush passed him. “Peachy.”

Catching her by the arm he held her there, staring down at her. “Evelyn…”

Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she sighed. “I got my period. Merry Christmas to me.” Pulling free of his grasp, she walked back into the kitchen to fiddle with the dishes that were almost finished cooking.

Joe waited a moment, hands shoving into his pockets. It wasn’t the inconvenience of it that had gotten to her, it was that it had come at all.

They’d talked, almost a year to the day, about wanting a family. Evelyn’s parents were gone, and so were Joe’s but they wanted to carry on their traditions, keep the family trees growing.

Evelyn had gotten a job at one of the smaller newspapers in New Orleans, but she was damn determined to keep her reporting career even with a child. She’d been full of fire that day, ready to be a mom with a notebook and pens in her diaper bag too. He’d thought it was precious, inspiring… He’d agreed.

A baby… It was a scary, exciting thought. He and Jasmine hadn’t been married long before he got shipped off to war, and when he got back… Well, neither of them were thinking about children.

But with Evelyn. Now. In their new life, in their home… It felt right.

At first they’d made jokes, said they were going to have as much fun trying as possible. And Jesus, did they. Joe’s partner even commented he was looking dehydrated.

But the months went on, and still nothing.

No baby.

It hit her harder than she ever let on, he knew that. He was disappointed too, but seeing the light in her eyes dim each month… That’s what killed him.

Walking back into the kitchen, he leaned his shoulder into the door jam, watching her. He liked doing that, just quietly watching how she moved through the world, their home, each task.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“I bet you are,” she said, voice a little too high. “You were probably hoping to get lucky tonight.”

He smirked. “I already did. I married you.”

Her laugh was bitter, and it stunned him. “Sure, you got lucky alright. You got hitched to a broken wife.”

Scowling, he crossed the kitchen, reaching for her. “Hey, hey, look at me. You are not broken.”

“Sure about that?” Tears shown in her eyes as she stared up at him. “It’s been a year, Joe.”

“Didn’t the doctor say it could take some time? That stress and all that could make it harder?”

She sighed. “Yes, but—”

“And you’ve been working overtime at the paper.”

“It’s a new publication, we’re trying to get up the ladder, you know.”

“Right,” he said, rubbing her arms. “So maybe that’s what’s caused it.”

She frowned. “I’m not quitting just because of this.”

“No, no, of course not. That’s not what I meant.” He shook his head. “I’m saying… You shouldn’t go around calling yourself broken when you haven’t even given yourself some slack yet.”

He watched her consider his words, and knew she’d started to accept them when her chin tilted a little to the side and she hummed under her breath. Leaning down, he kissed her temple.

“You’re not broken,” he whispered into her hair. “And if we’re not blessed with a baby… That’s alright. I’ve got you. What else do I need, huh?”

Evelyn smiled, pressing closer to his chest. “When’d you get to be such a sweet talker?”

“Picked it up from one of those dime store novels you brought home.”

“I’m shocked. You’re telling me you read when I’m not around to see it?”

Chuckling, he tilted her face towards him and kissed her. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

They ate and listened to Christmas carols on the radio, and Evelyn fell asleep with her head in Joe’s lap. It was one of his favorite Christmases ever.


	26. Epilogue: Young and Beautiful

_July 1950_

Evelyn balanced the serving bowl of potato salad on top of the wider dish of cherry cobbler, toeing open the front screen door.

“Joe, hurry, we’re gonna be late!”

“Baby, it’s a backyard barbeque, not dinner at the Ritz.”

Catching the door with her hip, she glanced over her shoulder. “Still, it’s impolite to be tardy.”

Hearing him cross the living room to snatch up his keys, she sighed through her nose.

“You bring an umbrella?” Joe asked.

“Yep, I’m carrying it with the third arm I grew.”

Chuckling, Joe gathered his hat and an umbrella, appearing in the entryway. “Would you like some help with that?” He asked, eyeing the tower of dishes in her hands.

“No, I’d like to _get going_.”

Joe held the door so she could step out of the way and turned to lock up. “You’re in a mood. You nervous or something?”

Evelyn sighed again. “I just… want to make a good impression is all.”

“Dave and the guys love you,” Joe told her, following her down the front steps.

She bit her lip. It wasn’t Joe’s squad she had trouble with…

“Oh,” he said, as if reading her mind. “It’s the wives.”

Unlocking the car for her, Joe took the dishes from her so she could get into the passenger seat.

“I’ve stood in a room with mobsters,” Evelyn muttered. “Shot a gun. Witnessed more horrible crimes than I can count—”

“Say it a little louder for the neighbors.”

“—But those women make me shake in my pumps. Are we sure they’re not their own mob? They’ve got the look.”

“And Mitch’s wife does seem a little too comfortable with a knife.”

“See?” She reached up to take the dishes from him. “I just need an in with them…”

Joe shut her door and hurried to the driver’s side. “You’ll get it,” he said, climbing in. “They’re just cliquey. They don’t like anyone more beautiful and more interesting than them.”

Evelyn looked out the window to hide her blush. “Not like I’m a threat. I’m not a man-eater.”

“Sure you are,” he said, leaning over to kiss her neck. “They just don’t have experience like I do.”

Laughing, she playfully swatted at him. “Would you drive already? Focus, Teague.”

Grinning, he put the car into gear. “Yes, ma’am.”

Pulling up in front of his partner’s house, Joe parked the car and got out. Evelyn was halfway out of her side when he pulled her door open more and offered a hand.

“Mrs. Teague,” he teased.

“Thank you, Mr. Teague.”

Staring up at the front of the house, Evelyn took a deep breath as she admired the Fourth of July decorations hanging from the porch.

She could do this. She could fit in with detective wives. She could make friends of these women.

At least she knew the potato salad was good—she’d stress eaten a full cup of it while Joe had been in the shower.

Walking up the drive, the noise of a party echoed from the back of the house, but they went in through the front. Joe took a moment to deposit his hat on a free hook and she looked around the living room, taking in the chic décor. Dave’s wife was made to be a homemaker.

Joe wrapped his arm around her waist, walking with her into the kitchen. A few older children were rushing by, calling a hello to Joe as they passed. A few people Evelyn hadn’t met before were in the kitchen, sipping punch and chatting. They greeted them and offered to help find serving spoons for the food Evelyn brought.

Most of the guests were in the backyard, and she hesitated at the backdoor, staring out at the crowd.

Joe paused next to her, leaning close. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” he whispered before giving her a subtle smack on the ass.

Straightening her spine, Evelyn stepped onto the back deck and was greeted with resounding hellos from all of Joe’s colleagues. All the men got up if they were sitting, or came over, shaking Joe’s hand and giving Evelyn quick, polite hugs.

Dave, Joe’s partner, left the grill to come greet them and took the food from Evelyn, placing it with ceremony on the long table already covered with platters of food.

“Margie and the others are watching the kids play horse shoes in the shade,” Dave told her.

Horse shoes. Great.

Evelyn smiled and quickly found something alcoholic to pour into a cup. Casting Joe a look, she said, “I’ll go say hi,” before walking away from the group of men.

Around the side of the yard, all sitting in lawn chairs under the shade of big magnolia trees, were The Wives.

 _You faced Mickey Cohen. You shot Sid Rothman and dumped his body. You learned how to roast duck without burning it. You can befriend these women,_ she thought, striding over.

“Evelyn, how lovely to see you dear,” Margie called, voice just barely a note above bored. Her bright yellow dress matched her blonde hair, pulled into a perfect up-do.

Waving, Evelyn said, “Hi Margie.”

“Ladies, this is Joe Teague’s wife, Evelyn.”

Evelyn looked around at the group, recognizing all of them. “Oh, I believe I’ve met most of you…” she said, smiling politely. “Hi Teresa, Belle, Annie, Sophie.”

“Oh I’m sorry dear,” Margie said, fanning herself. “I always forget who knows who.”

One of the other Wives—Annie—looked up at Evelyn from her lounger chair. “Aren’t you a magazine editor?”

“Oh, um, not exactly,” Evelyn stumbled. “I write for the New Orleans Bugle. I’m a reporter…”

“Oh, you’re the life styles girl,” Teresa interjected. “I loved your piece on Jello molds.”

Evelyn wished she’d put _only_ whiskey in her cup.

“That’s Sarah,” she corrected gently. “I write for the crime beat.”

“Lordy, that’s morbid,” Margie commented, adjusting her sunglasses. “I don’t even let Dave talk about work at home. Can’t imagine writing about it.”

Gulping her drink, Evelyn turned, focusing on the game the children were playing. Almost all of The Wives were also mothers, except for Teresa, who had only been married a few months. Just another thing to set Evelyn apart, and not in a good way…

But she liked their kids, so at least that was something.

“Who’s winning?” Evelyn called to Margie’s eldest daughter—a lanky, pretty girl about eleven years old.

“Me!” She shouted back, grinning. “Wanna play, Evelyn?”

She did, truly.

But she knew she was supposed to play the part of a cop’s wife. And that meant standing in the heat, talking about wallpaper or whatever it was they wanted to talk about.

“Maybe later, okay?”

The girl nodded and went back to playing with the other kids.

Staying quiet as the other women chatted on and on, Evelyn drained her cup and excused herself to get another drink. She could hear the men having two discussions—Dave and Mitch were debating grilling techniques, while the cluster of men on the other side of the deck were discussing President Truman’s decisions about the Korea invasion. Both sounded much more appealing to Evelyn than Jello molds.

Deciding to eat something so she wasn’t drooling drunk before supper, she put a plate together and stood off to the side to nibble and watch the younger children running around playing tag.

“Find your ‘in’ yet?” Joe’s voice beside her brought her head around.

Smirking, she rolled her eyes. “Not exactly. I got mistaken for the life styles writer at my paper though. Which spurred on a twenty-minute conversation about Jello.”

Joe fought not to smile. “Well… There are a lot of flavors.”

“How about we swap? You go listen to Margie and Annie discuss hair products and I’ll debate wood versus charcoal with Mitch and Dave.”

“Yeah, I do have a lot of opinions about pomade.”

Evelyn laughed, and Joe smiled down at her.

“It’ll get easier,” he said, hand on her hip, pulling her close to his side.

“They’re never gonna like me.”

“Then it’s their loss.”

There was a small commotion behind them and they both turned to see Dave greeting a new couple—a shorter, blond man and his tall, olive skinned wife with jet black hair.

“Who’s that?” Evelyn asked quietly.

Joe shook his head, shrugging. “Dunno. Never seen them before.”

Dave waved them both over to introduce them. “Robbie, Althea, this is my partner Joe and his wife, Evelyn.”

Shaking their hands, Evelyn couldn’t help but notice how much taller Althea was than her husband. Taking a quick glance at her shoes, Evelyn was shocked the woman was in flats.

“Robbie and Althea just moved in next door from Queens,” Dave said.

Evelyn’s head snapped up. “You’re from New York?”

“Born and raised, honey,” Althea said, accent evident. “You?”

“Lower East Side,” Evelyn told her with a smile.

“Ohh a Manhattan girl,” Althea laughed. “I should’ve guessed from those shoes.”

They continued to chat, Robbie explaining he was a tax accountant and Althea was a seamstress. They’d moved when Robbie got offered a job as a forensic accountant for the District Attorney of New Orleans.

“It’s great money but it’s boring as hell,” Robbie said with a chuckle.

“I never sleep better than when he starts reading off a case to me,” Althea said. “Two sentences and I’m out.”

Robbie and Joe actually hit it off quickly—the mention of baseball caught his attention and they wandered over to the other men, talking about their team stats. Althea and Evelyn clung together, talking about New York, moving to the South, the food spread, everything. Althea was loud, with an explosive laugh that caught everyone off guard each time, but it was delightful. She was proudly Greek, explaining how to eat the stuffed grape leaves she brought, as well as the baklava that had Evelyn salivating.

“I haven’t had baklava since leaving New York,” she said, leaning down to sniff the pastry.

“I make it all the time, as you can tell,” Althea said, patting her soft belly and laughing. “But hey, Robbie likes me with more meat on my bones, so if that means I get to eat more baklava then…”

Evelyn laughed, bright and big, and she caught Joe staring at her with a smile.

The first round of hot dogs and burgers were getting served up, and Evelyn had just dolloped a big spoonful of her potato salad on a plate when there was a shrill cry from one of the younger kids, bringing everyone’s head around.

One of the Wives was hollering for Dave, coming around to the deck.

“I think something bit him,” Margie was saying, trying to soothe the crying eight year old. “Hold still honey, mama can’t see…”

Setting her plate down, Evelyn hurried over. “Can I take a look?”

“It’s swelling up,” Margie told her, worry drawing her features tight. “I can’t tell what it was. Oh God, what if it was a copperhead…”

Kneeling in front of the crying boy, Evelyn offered him a smile and took his hand. “It’s okay, I know it hurts but we’re gonna get you fixed up, alright?”

The boy was cradling his arm to his belly, sniffling. He nodded at her and Evelyn asked to see his arm.

After a quick inspection she knew it wasn’t a snake bite. “Hey Joe, you got a business card?” She called over her shoulder. “And I need your pocket knife.”

“You’re not going to cut him,” Margie nearly shrieked, and Evelyn shook her head.

“No, no, here, I’ll show you.”

Joe pushed passed a few of the others that had gathered around, squatting down to hand Evelyn a business card and his knife.

“It’s a wasp sting, see?” She told them. “Looks like the stinger came off, and it’s stuck. That’s why it’s swelling up so bad. So, I’m just gonna…”

She slid the business card in close, pushing the skin down to see the stinger. Flipping open Joe’s knife, she used the back edge, the one that wasn’t sharp, to drag across and dislodge the stinger. It came out onto the business card and she quickly handed both back to Joe, who scrunched his nose at the bloody stinger.

Snatching a napkin off the table, she dabbed the reddening spot and looked up at the boy who had grown quiet, watching her.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think you’ll turn into a wasp,” she murmured to him with a wink. “Gotta be a full moon for that to happen.”

The little boy laughed, and Evelyn looked up at Margie. “Just put some ice on it and he should be fine soon.”

Margie stared at her like she was glowing. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Joe helped her to her feet, keeping her close as Dave and Margie took their son inside to clean up.

“And how the hell did you learn to do that?” Joe asked in her ear.

“We have wasps in New York too, you know,” she said, leaning into his side. “And my brother was always a total wimp.”

The Stinger Save, as it became known, was the talk of everyone for the rest of the night, turning Evelyn into the hero of the barbeque. That night, after Joe won the watermelon eating contest, and The Wives were helping serve dessert, Margie made sure Evelyn got the biggest helping of banana pudding and pie, and her cup never seemed to be empty for the rest of the day.

Althea and Evelyn found a stash of sparklers and drunkenly kicked their shoes off and ran around the backyard with the lit sparklers behind them, singing off-key patriotic tunes and dancing. All the kids joined in, giggling and singing and trying not to set each other on fire. Joe’s laughter was the loudest.

That night, after exchanging numbers and addresses with Althea and Robbie, and collecting her now empty dishware, Joe helped Evelyn into the car, grinning at how tipsy she was.

As he started the car, Evelyn giggled and smiled broadly at him.

“I found my ‘in’,” she announced proudly.

Joe took the long way home, so she could spend more time with her arm out the window, letting her hair blow in the breeze.


	27. Epilogue: Come & Get It

_October 1950_

At first she thought she was dreaming.

Strong hands on her waist, her hips, gently rolling her onto her back. Her nightgown getting pushed up, while warm kisses trailed down her stomach to the tops of her thighs.

“Hm?” She blinked, squinting in the morning light. Sweeping an arm out, she didn’t feel Joe next to her.

“Mornin’,” his voice rumbled against her belly, making her shudder.

Smiling, she tugged the blankets off so she could see him. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Hands on her thighs, he pushed them apart with ease, settling between her knees.

Evelyn reached down, fingers trailing over his bare shoulders. “Looks like I’m gonna be late for work.”

“Better make it worth the hassle then, huh?” His breath ghosted over her skin as he tugged her panties down.

She was already trembling as he draped her left leg over his shoulder, kissing her mound.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he murmured, seconds before using his mouth for something utterly blissful.

*

_February 1951_

Evelyn was already home when he pulled up in the drive way.

“Evenin’ Mrs. Crabtree,” he greeted their neighbor with a wave. “You got yourself a Valentine this year?”

“Just you, sugar,” she called, lifting her ice tea glass Joe suspected was filled with something else.

Chuckling, he ducked his head. “Careful now, you’ll get me in trouble.”

“I like making the neighborhood jealous.”

Mrs. Crabtree was a total flirt when she drank. It never ceased to make him laugh and pink at the tips of his ears.

Depositing his hat and jacket on the hook in the entry way, he headed for the kitchen just like he always did.

“Wait, no, don’t come in yet!”

Stopping in his tracks, Joe frowned. “Evey?”

“Shhh.” She turned from the oven, tip toeing towards him.

“What’ve you got in there, a bomb?”

“We have to be careful or it’ll fall,” she whispered.

He furrowed his brow. “Or what will fall?” He whispered back.

“The chocolate soufflé I’m making.”

“Soufflé? Baby, I thought you said no more French food.”

She looked up at him, wiping a smudge of flour off her forehead. “But this is French dessert. It’s good, I promise.”

“Can I at least get a beer?”

She shook her head. “No, not until it’s done. We can’t go in there.”

Sighing, Joe shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m being held hostage by foreign dessert.”

“You can stay in the living room, or the bedroom, but not the kitchen. Or close to the kitchen.”

“What if I have to use the bathroom?”

“Hold it.”

“This is ridiculous.”

Wrapping her arm around his waist, she lifted up onto her toes to kiss him. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

Kissing her back, he smiled and then turned away.

“Where are you going?”

“To have a drink with Mrs. Crabtree. Call for me when the coast is clear.”

“But… Joe,” she loudly whispered for him, but he was already out the front door.

They split the one soufflé that managed not to fall with Mrs. Crabtree over a game of Canasta, and got tipsy on spiked ice tea.


	28. Epilogue: We Found Love

_March 1951_

It was Joe’s weekend off, and she found him neck deep under their sink, repairing a leaky pipe.

“Seth’s gonna be cross that you did that,” she teased, setting her purse down. “He’s been bugging me for a week to get at that sink.”

Joe’s chuckle was muffled by the cabinetry. “I’ll break a knob in the bathroom. That’ll keep him busy for a while.”

Sitting in the chair closest to him, she leaned forward on her knees, fidgeting with her skirt.

“How’s Althea?” Joe asked, the sound of a wrench punctuating his question.

“Good. The new shop looks incredible.” She smirked, mostly at herself. “She wants me to be a model for her catalog.”

“Seamstresses have catalogs?”

“She’s doing one to show what she can do—like, before and after photos. And to show off her original designs she’ll be selling.”

Something metal thunked and Joe jerked but didn’t make a noise. Must’ve not hit himself.

“You should do it,” he said, dropping a section of pipe into a bucket. “Show off a little.”

Evelyn blushed, and she was thankful he couldn’t see her to tease her about it. “I dunno… Seems vain.”

“Nah, Althea knows her stuff. You’ve got the gams.”

She laughed, and she knew he was enjoying it because the tinkering noises stopped.

“Just promise you won’t forget your lowly detective husband when you become famous.”

Evelyn nudged his leg with the toe of her shoe. “Never.”

“Good.”

Eyeing her purse, she fidgeted with her skirt more. “Actually, Althea told me something else today… And I thought I should talk to you about it.”

“Tell her I’m flattered, but I don’t think she wants this mug of mine in her catalog.”

She smiled, chuckling softly. “Not quite. But I wouldn’t mind a catalog of you.”

“I’ll remember that for Christmas.”

Tapping his leg again to get his attention, she said, “Can you poke your head out for a second?”

Sliding out from under the sink, Joe sat up, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so.”

“Evey?”

Reaching for her purse, she pulled it into her lap and took a deep breath. “Althea was telling me about a charity she’s been working with, helping make and repair clothes for needy children. And she gave me a pamphlet about the place that benefits from most of what they collect.” Opening her bag, she took out the colored cardstock. “Saint Anne’s children’s home.”

Joe frowned in thought, listening to her. She continued before she could lose her nerve.

“It’s… an orphanage. She said they do great work, it’s not like some of the places you hear about… They’re small but they still get a lot of children.” She took a steadying breath. “They’re one parish over, about thirty minutes from here.”

“You want to go to an orphanage?”

She stared at him, feeling too many things at once. “I’d… like to talk about it. About visiting.”

Joe wiped his hands on the rag again, looking down. “I thought we were still trying for our own…”

“It’s been almost three years, Joe,” she said, throat tight. “I’m not trying to be pessimistic, but I think if it was going to happen… It would have.”

“We don’t have to have a baby, Evelyn. I’m happy. I have you—”

“I know, I know, and I love you more and more every day for that,” she said, sliding off the chair and kneeling on the kitchen floor in front of him. “This isn’t about lacking something. We have so much together. More than I ever dreamed. This…” She held up the pamphlet. “It’s about wanting to share our love. Multiply it.”

Joe stared at the paper for a moment before taking it from her. “You wanna adopt a baby.” It wasn’t a question.

“I want to go there and see the place. Talk to the nuns.”

“Nuns?”

“Did the name Saint Anne’s not imply that?” She smirked, and Joe chuckled softly.

Placing her hand on his wrist, she waited for him to look up at her.

“One trip, just to see. If we hate it, if it feels too strange or whatever, then we come home, and I throw that paper away and we live the rest of our days bugging the hell out of each other and only each other, and that’s that.”

Reading the front of the paper, Joe nodded. “Alright. We’ll go tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“If this is what you want,” he started. “I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Evelyn was so excited she couldn’t sleep.

Excited… and terrified.

It only got worse on the drive. No matter how many jokes Joe cracked, she couldn’t really bring herself to laugh.

Turning onto the dirt lane, she saw the large boarding house in the distance and felt like she could throw up.

“Easy,” Joe told her, hand going to her knee. “Everything’s alright.”

“I know, I just… I hope they like us.”

“The babies?”

“The nuns.”

Joe chuckled and parked the car. “You’ll dazzle ‘em. Just like you always do.”

A sweet-tempered nun in a blue dress and white head covering met them at the door and took them through the house, showing them the different areas for the children of all ages.

The orphanage had a surprising number of older children, which facilitated the need for a classroom. But everything was tidy, clean, and the children looked as happy as children could in those circumstances.

Taking them into the infant room, the nun showed them the littlest members of the house, all in their own cribs.

Looking up at Joe, Evelyn saw his jaw working, and eyes darting, and knew something had made him uncomfortable.

At the end, they were handed a clipboard with forms to fill out—mostly just information about them as a couple, where they lived, their livelihoods.

“I’ll let you two wander as you please,” the nun told them with a smile. “If you have any questions, I’ll be over there.”

When she was out of ear shot, Evelyn turned to Joe, whispering, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

Joe shook his head. “No, no, it’s…” He scrunched his nose. “It feels a little like getting a dog from the pound.”

“I’ll admit, the rows of cribs felt a little strange. Not that they can help it, but…”

“Are we just supposed to pick one randomly?” Joe glanced over his shoulder. “Hold each one up and say ‘well that one looks the most like me I guess’?”

She shrugged, hugging the clipboard to her stomach. “I don’t know. I don’t think we’re supposed to pick based on hair and eye color.”

“Then how? They’re… infants. Not like we can tell what they’re gonna be like.”

Evelyn sighed. “I don’t know, Joe. I don’t…” She hung her head. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

Rubbing her arm, Joe leaned closer. “Hey, no, it’s… I’m just too in my head about this. Let’s… Here, let’s take another look around.” He nodded to the door marked ‘toddler room’ and lead her over.

The brightly painted walls and big windows immediately soothed Evelyn. Even the noise was welcome.

Another nun in attendance stood up and came over to greet them. She was as kind as the first, and Joe started explaining they wanted to look around again, try to get their bearings.

“Of course, please,” she said, waving them in. “Take your time.”

Evelyn got distracted by the mural on one side of the room, and the nun started talking to her about how brave they were.

“Most couples don’t think of adoption,” she said. “They somehow see it as inferior.”

Evelyn shook her head. “I don’t see it that way. It’s… It’s about love.”

“Exactly.” She smiled at her. “I know it’s overwhelming, and a big decision…”

“Yes,” Evelyn said with a deep exhale. “We were trying to figure out… how. When you have your own child, you birth it, it’s yours. But this…”

“It’s different,” she said. “It’s more… about a feeling. How you feel with a child. How they feel with you.”

Evelyn nodded. “That makes…” She turned, looking for Joe. “Sense.”

She said it as she spotted him crouched in front of a little boy, no more than three years old, in blue overalls, holding a baseball too big for his tiny hand. Joe was smiling, helping the boy hold the ball, speaking softly to him.

The nun glanced over and smiled. “That’s Theodore,” she said. “He’s been with us for a while now…”

Evelyn barely heard her. Her pulse was racing and her chest felt close to bursting.

“He’s a sweet boy, so well-tempered, and bright.”

“Why… Why hasn’t anyone adopted him?”

The nun lowered her voice as she said, “We have to medically disclose to potential parents. Theodore is partially deaf in his left ear, and it’s delayed his speech a little. From what we can tell, he understands quite a bit, and he’s learned to focus on people’s lips when they talk. But he’s a little behind with his own speech.”

Gooseflesh rose on Evelyn’s arms as the nun explained, and she struggled to pay attention.

Her father had lost hearing in his left ear after the war. Too many explosions and gunfire close by without ear protection.

It felt… like a sign.

Wandering over to Joe and Theodore, Evelyn knelt beside them, holding back tears.

“Looks like you found a friend,” she said to Joe.

“He knew the way to my heart, holding a baseball like that.”

She could only watch for a moment, as Joe and the boy played. Swallowing, she reached out, taking Theodore’s little hand. He gripped her so tight she nearly winced. He was strong.

When he looked up at her, the house could have crumbled down around them and she wouldn’t have noticed. Those big brown eyes had her mystified.

Finally, when she could think straight, she scooped him up and held him at her side.

“Hello Theodore,” she said softly. “I’m Evelyn. And this is Joe.”

Glancing up, she froze at the sight of Joe. He was staring at them both like they were the moon and stars. Tears shown in his eyes and for the first time since she’d met Joe, he cried. Silent, barely noticeable tears, but there they were, streaming down his face.

Quickly, he wiped them away, looking down and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Joe…” she started, reaching for him. “I think we found our baby.”

A week later, Theodore James Teague came home to a room all his own, piled high with toys and gifts, and his very own baseball, glove, and bat. Joe insisted, even though he’d have to grow a few years before he’d be able to hold the bat.

“What do you think, Teddy?” Joe asked, carrying the little boy on his hip. “Gonna play for the Braves one day?”

“God, I hope not,” Evelyn groaned, stepping over. “Play for the Yankees, they’re better.”

It took Teddy a month before he called Evelyn ‘mama’. He’d yelled it when he saw her through the window coming home from the store. Joe had nearly dropped his oatmeal it startled him so badly.

A day later Teddy called Joe ‘daddy’. They’d been in the yard, Teddy playing with blocks while Joe painted a dresser Evelyn bought. Joe had dropped a brush, and Teddy had wandered over, picked it up, and held it up for him, calmly and distinctly saying, “Here daddy.”

Joe almost broke down right there, but he kept it together.

Evelyn Teague and Joe Teague had accomplished many things. But they’d both agreed their biggest, and favorite accomplishment was sharing their love with their son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I should call this a partial end to this fic. I have a part 2 of the epilogue planned out, but it's looking like it might turn into more of a second fic entirely... So for now, this is Joe and Evelyn's happily ever...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments are welcomed and encouraged!


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